THE  WHEEL 


THE  WHEEL  OF  LIFE 

A    PLAY    IN    THREE    ACTS 

BY 
JAMES  BERNARD  PAGAN 


NEW    YORK 
BRE  NT  ANO'  S 

PUBLISHERS 

A 


First  Published  in  1922. 
All  rights  reserved. 


Printed  in  Great  Britain 


THE  CHARACTERS  OF  THE  PLAY 

COLONEL  JOHN  DANGAN 

GEORGE  FARAKER 

CAPTAIN  LESLIE  YEULLAT  ("  Tim  ") 

LIEUTENANT  BUCKMASTEE  ("  Tubbs  ") 

LIEUTENANT  O'REILLY  ("  Paddy  ") 

LIEUTENANT  MACLAREN 

LIEUTENANT  MANNERS 

TSERING  LAMA 

A  GELONG 

A  GETSUL 

A  GURKHA  NATIVE  OFFICER 

A  GURKHA  HAVILDAR 

MAHOMET  KHAN  (Dangan's  Kitmutghar 

DAVID  (Faraker's  Bearer) 

RUTH  DANGAN 

MRS  FARAKER 

AN  AYAH 


THE  SCENES  OF  THE  PLAY 

ACT  I. 

COLONEL  DANGAN'S  Bungalow,   at    Jagpur—in  the 
Plains. 

Two  years  elapse. 

ACT  II. 

The  Llakhang   (Hall   of  the   Gods)   in   a   Buddhist 
Monastery  in  the  Himalaya  of  Bhutan. 

A  night  elapses. 

ACT  III, 

The  same. 


Was  first  presented  on  February  ist,  1922,  at  the 
APOLLO  THEATRE,  LONDON,  under  the  management  of 
Miss  PHYLLIS  NEILSON-TERRY,  with  the  following  caste. 


COLONEL  JOHN  DANGAN     . 
GEORGE  FARAKER 
CAPTAIN  LESLIE  YEUILLAT  (Tim) 
LIEUTENANT  BUCKMASTER 
LIEUTENANT  O'REILLY 
LIEUTENANT  MACLAREN 
LIEUTENANT  MANNERS 
TSERING  LAMA 
A  GELONG         .         .         . 
A  GETSUL          .... 
A  GURKHA  NATIVE  OFFICER 
A  GURKHA  HAVILDAR 
MAHOMET  KHAN  (Dangan's  Kit- 
mutghar)    .... 
DAVID  (Faraker's  Bearer)  . 
RUTH  DANGAN 
MRS  FARAKER  . 
AN  AYAH  . 


ROBERT  HORTON 

FRANK  DENTON 

PHILIP  MERIVALE 

WALTER  MENPES 

CYRIL  HARDINGHAM 

C.  T.  DAVIES 

FELIX  IRWIN 

RANDLE  AYRTON 

TlRUVENGADUM 

JHANGIR 

.     BHAGAVAT  RAM 
KRISHNAPALAN 


MOHAN  LAL 
JADU  SINGH 

PHYLLIS  NEILSON-TERRY 
EDITH  EVANS 
LYDIA  AUDRE 


TO  MY  WIFE 


ACT  J 


FIRST  ACT 

SCENE  :  The  drawing-room  in  COLONEL  DANGAN'S 
bungalow  at  Jagpur,  in  the  plains.  The  walls 
are  in  white  distemper ;  the  pictures  principally 
regimental  and  shooting  groups.  There  is  an 
engraving  of  Queen  Victoria  in  a  gilt  frame, 
also  similarly  framed  engravings  of  the  King  and 
Queen.  Above  the  rosewood  cottage  grand  piano, 
which  stands  in  the  left  corner  of  the  scene,  is 
hung  a  large  photo  of  Watts'  "  Paolo  and 
Frances ca"  in  a  wide  green  wood  frame.  In  the 
centre  is  a  wide  opening,  now  closed  by  wooden 
shutters.  On  the  right  is  a  half  door,  with  a  space 
above  and  below  for  the  passage  of  air ;  on  the 
left  a  smaller  half  door.  The  doors  and  shutters 
are  hung  with  striped  muslin  purdahs.  The  furni- 
ture is  bamboo  upholstered,  or  with  loose  cushions. 
On  the  right  front  a  settee;  near  the  piano  a 
small  table.  A  lamp  on  the  piano,  a  standard 
lamp  in  the  right  corner,  both  lighted.  From  the 
ceiling  hangs  a  red  punka,  and  the  rope  by  which 
is  it  worked  disappears  through  a  hole  in  the  back 
wall. 

When  the  curtain  rises,  the  punka  is  swinging, 
but  getting  slower  and  slower.  In  the 
distance,  from  one  of  the  further  rooms,  the 

11 


12  THE  WHEEL  ACT  i 

last  passage  of  a  Melba  song  on  a  gramo- 
phone can  be  heard.  The  song  ceases.  A 
young  man's  voice  calls  out  a  derisive 
"Encore!  Encore  I"  There  is  a  laugh, 
then  silence.  The  punka  is  swinging  very 
slowly.  MAHOMET,  the  butler,  opens  the  half 
door  Left,  and  comes  on  with  a  tray  of  soda, 
whisky,  and  glasses,  which  he  sets  on  the 
little  table  near  the  piano,  then  turns  to  go  out. 
The  punka,  after  a  few  faintly  convulsive 
jerks,  has  now  stopped. 

MAHOMET  glances  up,  then  shouts. 
MAHOMET.  Kencho  !  Kencho  punka  !  [The  punka 
moves  not.  He  opens  the  shutter  at  the  back,  sticks  out 
his  head,  and  shouts  fiercely],  Kencho  !  kencho  !  Tu 
Badmash !  [The  punka  swings  violently.  MAHOMET 
closes  the  shutter.] 

COLONEL  DANGAN  and  GEORGE  FARAKER  enter 
from  left.  The  COLONEL  is  a  man  of  fifty, 
lean  and  tanned,  but  not  betraying  his  age 
except  by  his  iron-grey  hair  and  moustache. 
A  resolute  mouth  and  chin,  and  kindly  eyes. 
He  is  in  white  mess  kit. 

FARAKER  is  fifteen  years  younger,  rather  dry 
and  bloodless.  He  has  a  small  but  assertive 
moustache,  scanty  hair,  and  wears  pince-nez. 
He  has  an  irritating  "  House  of  Common*  " 
manner  and  a  habit  of  laying  his  lean  fingers 
together  at  the  tips.  He  was  born  old,  and 
will  never  be  young.  He  is  a  superior 
person. 


ACT  i  THE  WHEEL  13 

DANGAN.  Really,  it's  extraordinary  when  you  think 
of  it !  Fancy  listening  to  Melba  out  here  in  the  plains, 
with  the  temperature  at  180°  ! 

FARAKER.  Yes.  The  world  is  growing  very  small — 
very  small. 

DANGAN.  Just  a  machine  and  tin  trumpet,  and  you 
can  hear  'em  all. 

FARAKER.  Covent  Garden  canned  for  export.  Ha  ! 
ha !  ha  ! 

DANGAN.  [Laughing]  That's  it !    Peg,  George  ? 

FARAKER.  Er — thank  you. 

DANGAN.  [Pouring  out  the  regulation  peg]  Say  when. 

FARAKER.    A  suspicion  more — thank  you. 

DANGAN.  [Pouring  out  the  soda]  I  see  you  haven't 
got  into  our  ways  yet. 

FARAKER.  Eh  ?  [He  takes  the  drink  with  very  little 
soda]  Thank  you.  Thank  you. 

DANGAN.  We  take  our  pegs  short  and  frequent, 
and  all  the  soda.  But  indeed  I've  practically  given 
up  whisky  myself.  [Pours  himself  out  a  small  peg]  We 
don't  drink  nowadays.  Good  thing  too  !  It's  going 
out — it's  going  out.  [Fills  up  with  soda] 

FARAKER.  [Sipping]  Yes,  yes,  so  everybody  is 
saying. 

DANGAN.  Well,  it's  very  pleasant  seeing  you  again, 
George.  Let  me  see,  when  was  I  home  last  ? — It  was 
your  wedding. 

FARAKER.  Twelve  years  ago — twelve  years  and 
three  months. 

DANGAN.  Twelve  years  —  so  it  is — to  give  Cis 
away.  Hm  !  [Pause]  Home — do  you  know,  I  don't 


14  THE   WHEEL  ACT  i 

think    of    it    as    home    so    much    now — since   I've 
married. 

FARAKER.  I  expect  Ruth  will  soon  cure  you  of  that 
idea. 

DANGAN.  No ;  that's  the  curious  thing.  I  could 
have  taken  twelve  months'  leave  last  year.  I  sug- 
gested home  and  giving  her  a  real  good  time.  She 
wouldn't  hear  of  it. 

FARAKER.  Regiment  more  attractive  than  rela- 
tions, I  suppose. 

DANGAN.  Perhaps.  You  see,  Ruth  doesn't  know 
what  she's  missing.  She  was  born  in  India,  and  has 
never  been  out  of  the  country — except  Ceylon,  four 
years  ago.  We  went  there  on  our  honeymoon. 

FARAKER.  Ruth  was  a  Miss  Farquaharson,  wasn't 
she? 

DANGAN.  Yes. 

FARAKER.  Anything  to  the  Hampshire  Farqua- 
harsons  ? 

DANGAN.  Don't  think  so.  Farquaharson  was  in 
the  Woods  and  Forests.  Seven  daughters  he  had, 
and  not  a  bob  besides  his  pay.  They  lived  at  Umtahla 
when  he  retired  .  .  .  sort  of  third  class  hill-station. 

FARAKER.  Dear  me  ! — why  didn't  they  go  home  ? 

DANGAN.  Home  !  with  seven  daughters  and  the 
rupee  at  one  and  twopence !  [He  laughs.  Then, 
after  a  pause]  To  a  little  dingy  street  in  Hammersmith 
or  Clapham,  and  daily  struggles  to  pay  the  butcher 
and  the  baker  ...  to  dress  decently.  And  for 
society — people  they  wouldn't  be  seen  dead  with 
here.  [Shakes  his  head,  smiling]  Wise  man,  he  didn't. 


ACT  i  THE   WHEEL  15 

It's  a  weird  sort  of  tragedy,  the  declining  years  of 
most  of  those  who  serve  England  in  India — even  the 
decent  pensions.  You're  rooted  out  of  the  soil  of 
your  life's  work  long  before  you're  old.  You  go  to 
a  strange  place  called  home,  where  you've  no  interests 
and  few  friends,  and  there  you  lie — it's  too  late  to 
strike  fresh  root — you  lie  and  wither,  surrounded 
by  an  alien  race  of  your  own  fellow-countrymen. 
[Rising]  Good  Lord  !  I  remember  going  to  see  old 

Nuttall [Pouring  himself  out  another  peg]  Another 

peg,  George  ? 

FARAKER.  No,  thanks. 

DAN  CAN.  Used  to  be  judge  of  the  High  Court — 
Punjaub,  no  end  of  a  big  bug  out  here— great  chap  ! 
But  there — what  a  life — deadly  !  It  made  me  swear 
that  if  I  can't  die  in  harness,  at  any  rate  I'll  hang 
about  the  old  stable  till  I  do  peg  out. 

FARAKER.  I  wonder  why  they  go  ? 

DANGAN.  The  idea  of  home,  I  suppose,  [with  a 
little  laugh]  the  irresistible  call  of  Bayswater. 

He  turns  over  the  leaves  of  a  book  of  -photos 
on  the  piano. 

FARAKER.  I  mean  to  take  up  that  subject.  It's 
waste — waste  of  a  fine  body  of  public  servants.  I 
was  talking  to  His  Excellency  about  it.  It's  a  great 
field  for  reform. 

DANGAN.  You'll  find  lots  of  those  fields  in  India, 
George.  The  trouble  is  the  reforms  don't  grow. 
[He  brings  over  the  book]  Here's  a  photo  of  the  Far- 
quaharson  girls— that's  Ruth  with  the  short  frock 
and  her  hair  down. 


16  THE   WHEEL  ACT  i 

FARAKER.  Ah  !    Some  time  ago,  of  course. 

DANGAN.  [Shaking  his  head]  Six  months  before  we 
married.  You  see,  though  she  was  nineteen,  she  had 
six  unmarried  sisters  waiting  on  the  roster. 

FARAKER.  How  is  it  handsome  girls  like  these  don't 
get  married  out  here  ?  .  .  .  I  should  have  thought 

DANGAN.  Oh,  various  reasons.  They  were  poor. 
Then  the  mother  died  when  they  were  young.  She 
was  Irish — lovely  woman,  I  believe.  Marriages  are 
made  in  Heaven,  but,  by  Jove  !  there's  nothing  like 
a  mother  to  get  the  goods  safely  on  the  market  down 
here. 

FARAKER.  Yes,  yes  .  .  .  that's  true. 

DANGAN.  Then  they  were  pretty  lively,  go-ahead 
sort  of  girls,  and  some  of  them  got  ...  er  ...  rather 
talked  about. 

FARAKER.  Oh  ! 

DANGAN.  Oh,  nothing  but  high  spirits.  Of  course, 
cats  are  common  to  all  civilized  countries,  but  the 
cats  of  the  small  Indian  stations,  well,  they're  more 
poisonous  than  the  snakes,  anyway.  [Laughing] 
Now,  there's  your  field  for  reform,  George. 

FARAKER.  In  what  way  ? 

DANGAN.  Start  an  asylum  for  the  Christian  cats  of 
our  Indian  Empire. 

FARAKER.  [Smiling  and  polishing  his  glasses]  I'm 
afraid,  my  dear  John,  you  don't  take  my  mission  in 
India  quite  seriously. 

DANGAN.  Oh,  of  course,  I'm  only  chaffing.  By  the 
way,  your  appointment  was  quite  unexpected,  wasn't 
it? 


ACT  i  THE   WHEEL  17 

FARAKER.  In  a  sense,  yes — yes.  You  see,  in  the 
last  two  Parliaments  I  acquired  a  considerable  repu- 
tation as  an  authority  on  Indian  affairs,  so  when  I 
lost  my  seat  at  the  General  Election — a  scandalous 
affair,  that  fellow  Sykes,  you  know,  an  upstart  brewer, 
a  ruffian,  positively  flooded  the  place  with  his  filthy 
stuff 

DANGAN.  And  drowned  you. 

FARAKER.  Only  by  three  hundred  and  ten — three 
hundred  and  ten  drunken  dupes.  However,  it  was 
decided  to  send  me  out  here  with  Moncrief,  in  re- 
cognition of  my  services  to  the  party 

During  the  last  speech  MRS  FARAKER  enters 
and  stands  listening  with  an  amused  smile. 
She  is  a  handsome,  well-preserved  woman, 
about  forty-four. 

MRS  F.  Nonsense,  George  ! 

FARAKER.  [Turning]  My  dear  ! 

MRS  F.  You  know  perfectly  well  /  got  you  the 
appointment. 

FARAKER.  Really,  my  dear  ! 

MRS  F.  This  is  the  true  story,  Jack.  We  were 
dining  with  old  Lady  Charwell.  Witherington  took 
me  down,  he's  a  devoted  admirer  of  mine,  and  when 
we  got  to  the  ices — he'd  had  six  glasses  of  champagne 
— I  said  :  "  Why  don't  you  send  George  out  with 
Moncrief  ?  He's  the  shining  light  of  the  party  on 
Indian  matters.  It's  high  time  he  learnt  some- 
thing about  India.  Besides,  I  want  a  nice  trip." 
Three  weeks  later  George  sailed  as  assistant-private 
secretary  to  the  new  Viceroy. 

B 


18  THE   WHEEL  ACT  i 

FARAKER.  Your  sister's  imagination  is  picturesque, 
but  inaccurate. 

MRS  F.  I  approve  of  your  wife,  Jack.  She's 
charming — much  too  nice  for  you. 

DANGAN.  Thanks,  Cis.    You  always  were  frank. 

MRS  F.  Mind,  I  haven't  said  I  approve  of  you. 
The  idea,  at  your  age  ! 

FARAKER.  [Holding  up  the  book]  This  was  on  the 
eve  of  her  marriage  [Laughing]. 

MRS  F.  [Looking  at  the  photo  through  her  lorgnettes] 
Perfectly  ridiculous  !  You  ought  to  have  adopted 
her. 

DANGAN.  Look  here,  now,  Cis  !  How  many  years 
older  than  George  are  you  ? 

MRS  F.  Nothing  to  do  with  the  case.  George  is  the 
kind  of  man  who  needs  a  strong  wife. 

DANGAN.  And  I'm  the  kind  of  man  who  needs  a 
young  wife. 

MRS  F.  Well,  at  any  rate,  you  must  let  her  come 
and  stay  with  us  up  at  Simla. 

DANGAN.  I'd  be  glad  if  she'd  go.  I've  wanted  her 
to  get  away  in  the  hot  weather.  But  she  won't  leave 
us.  She  looks  on  the  regiment  as  her  family,  and  she 
won't  be  happy  away  from  it. 

FARAKER.  Very  proper  !  very  proper  !  In  my  view 
a  wife's  place  is  with  her  husband. 

MRS  F.  Nonsense  !  It  depends  first  on  the 
husband,  and  then  on  the  pace. 

DANGAN.  Your  view  isn't  general  here,  George.  A 
large  percentage  of  married  couples  are  divorced 
annually 


ACT  i  THE   WHEEL  10 

FAKAKER.  [Sitting  up]  You  don't  say  so  ! 

DANGAN.  By  the  thermometer.  The  wife  and  family 
eat  their  bread  in  the  hills,  and  the  husband  sweats 
his  brow  in  the  plains. 

FAKAKER.  Ah,  yes  !  I  see,  I  see.  Now,  tell  me 
— in  your  view  —  what  is  the  effect  of  temperature 
on  morals  ? 

MRS  F.  "  The  higher  the  fewer  "  is  George's  idea. 

DANGAN.  [Laughing]  I'm  afraid  I've  never  thought 
about  it.  When  the  thermometer  jumps  up  we  chuck 
as  many  clothes  as  we  can,  and 

FARAKER.  [Eagerly]  Yes  ? 

DANGAN.  Well  .  .  .  that's  all.  I  expect  we're 
pretty  much  the  same  as  you  are  at  home. 

FARAKER.  [Disappointed]  And  you  really  think  that 
tropical  climate  has  no  loosening  effect  on  European 
morality  ? 

DANGAN.  My  dear  George,  try  five  or  six  weeks 
down  here  in  the  middle  of  the  hot  weather,  and  I'll 
bet  you  couldn't  feel  naughty,  if  you  tried. 

MRS  F.  [Laughing]  The  effect  of  hot  weather  on 
morals  was  settled  once  for  all  in  the  Mrs  Potiphar  case 
— Joseph  cast  his  cloak,  but  he  took  his  virtue  away 
with  him. 

DANGAN.  Of  course — up  in  Simla- 


FARAKER.  [Eagerly]  Ah,  yes,  now  there 

DANGAN.  Well,  up  in  Simla,  perhaps,  Society  does 

try  to  be  as  wicked  as  it  is  in  London — but  it's  a 

miserable  failure. 

MRS  F.  [Laughing]  I'm  afraid  George  got  his  ideas 

of  Indian  society  from  some  highly  spiced  novels. 


20  THE   WHEEL  ACT  i 

He  imagined  an  India  over-run  with  semi-detached 
Delilahs  and  gay  Lotharios  in  British  uniform,  so, 
naturally,  he's  disappointed. 

FARAKER.  [Hurt]  You  are  scarcely  fair,  Louise. 
I  merely  seek  information.  [To  Dangan]  I  am 
gathering  details  and  collecting  notes. 

DANGAN.  Are  you  writing  a  book  about  India  ? 

FARAKER.  When  I  have  had  time  to  sift  this 
maelstrom  of  phenomena  which  we  call  India,  that  is 
my  intention. 

DANGAN.  I  always  think  it  must  be  awfully  clever 
to  write  a  book. 

MRS  F.  Yes  ;  that's  a  common  mistake. 

DANGAN.  I  mean,  I  don't  believe  I  could  write  a 
line  to  save  my  life. 

The  shutters  are  opened  and  RUTH  DANGAN 
comes  on  hurriedly,  followed  by  BUCK- 
MASTER  and  O'REILLY.  RUTH  is  a  tall, 
beautiful  woman,  with  great  masses  of  hair. 
Her  manner  and  freedom  of  movement 
suggest  youth  and  strength — untamed. 

RUTH.  Oh  !  have  we  been  an  awful  time  ?  I'm 
so  sorry,  Louise.  We've  been  feeding  the  cheetah^ 
and  we  couldn't  catch  him  for  ages. 

DANGAN.  I  am  afraid  that  beast's  getting  out  of 
hand,  Ruth. 

RUTH.  Oh,  no,  Jack  !    He's  a  darling. 

BUCK.  Beggar's  claws  are  growing,  though.  [Look- 
at  the  back  of  his  hand.] 

RUTH.  [Anxiously]  He  didn't  scratch  you,  Tubbs  ? 

BUCK.  Oh  !    I  love  bein'  scratched. 


ACT  i  THE  WHEEL  21 

FARAKER.  [Rising]  A  cheetah  is  a  species  of  panther, 
is  it  not  ? 

RUTH.  Yes.  Oh  !  but  if  you'd  seen  him  when  I 
got  him  first,  the  tiniest  ball  of  soft  yellow  fur  !  Why 
do  things  grow  up  ? 

O'REILLY.  We  had  to  hunt  him  all  round  the  com- 
pound. Then  he  turned  on  us.  Luckily  Tubbs  had 
the  beef,  so  he  ate  that,  instead  of  us. 

FARAKER.  You  don't  say  so  !  Now,  really  .  .  . 
don't  you  think — a  wild  beast  like  that — it  would  be 
advisable  to  keep  it  chained  up  ? 

RUTH.  [Indignantly]  Chained  ! 

MRS  F.  How  would  you  like  to  be  chained  just 
because  you've  grown  up  ? 

FARAKER.  My  dear,  /  am  not  wild. 

He  goes  to  the  back,  where  he  looks  through  a 
book  of  photos  with  DANGAN. 

BUCK.  No  cause  for  alarm,  I  assure  you,  Mrs 
Faraker.  The  beggar  was  as  quiet  as  a  lamb  when  the 
memsahib  took  him  in  her  arms. 

MRS  F.  That  is  always  the  safest  way  to  soothe  the 
savage  beast. 

RUTH.  [Sitting  beside  MRS  FARAKER  on  the  settee] 
I've  deprived  you  of  your  two  young  men.  Dis- 
graceful of  me  ! 

MRS  F.  [Laughing]  I  survive. 

RUTH.  Of  course.  I  was  really  thinking  of  them. 
It's  not  often  they  have  the  chance  of  getting  into  the 
good  books  of  a  real  burrah  memsahib.  You  see,  I 
am  the  mother  of  them  all.  I  have  to  see  they  get 
their  chances.  [Turning]  Paddy,  come  and  be  nice 


22  THE   WHEEL  ACT  i 

to  Mrs  Faraker.  [To  MRS  FARAKER]  Mr  O'Reilly 
is  really  a  most  deserving  case. 

O'REILLY.  [Laughing  awkwardly]  You  mustn't  take 
her  seriously,  Mrs  Faraker.  [To  RUTH]  I  say,  mem- 
sahib,  I  shall  blush  in  a  minute. 

RUTH.  And  blushes  adorably. 

MRS  F.  [Laughing]  I'm  afraid  I  shall  make  a  very 
amateur  burrah  memsahib. 

RUTH.  Burrah  memsahibs  are  born,  not  made. 
You're  one.  I  saw  it  at  once.  You  have  all  the  marks. 
I  can  just  see  you  up  at  Simla  on  a  moonlight  night 
sitting  in  a  Kalah  faggah,  dropping  seeds  of  suggestion 
into  official  ears.  And  after  many  days,  out  of 
official  mouths  will  come  forth  fruit. 

MRS  F.  [Looking  from  one  to  the  other]  Of  course, 
I  was  so  dazzled  by  you  all  together  at  mess  I  couldn't 
quite  take  you  in.  Are  you  really  the  two  brightest 
ornaments ? 

BUCK,  [fixing  his  eyeglass]  Modesty  compels  me  to 
admit  that  I  am. 

O'REILLY.  I  say,  Tubbs,  where  do  I  come  in  ? 
[To  MRS  FARAKER]  As  a  matter  of  fact,  our  bright 
particular  star  wasn't  at  mess  at  all  to-night.  Wait 
till  you  meet  Tim,  Mrs  Faraker. 

MRS  F.  Tim  ? 

RUTH.  Tim  is  Captain  Yeullat.  [Calling  over  the 
back  of  the  settee]  Jack,  why  wasn't  Captain  Yeullat 
at  mess  to-night  ? 

DANCAN.  Yeullat  ?  Oh !  got  some  business 
on. 

O'REILLY.  He  can  knock  us  all  out  at  anything — 


ACT  i  THE   WHEEL  23 

polo,  tennis,  best  shot  in  the  regiment — top  hole  at 
everything. 

BUCK.  He's  not  as  modest  as  I  am. 
O'REILLY.  You  know   he   ought  to  have  got  a 
D.S.O.  for  that  scrap  up  at  Nagar,  last  year. 
RUTH.  Yes. 

MRS  F.  Why  didn't  he  ? 

RUTH.  Why  ?  [With  a  little  laugh]  Because  he 
neglects  the  whole  duty  of  man.  He  forgets  to 
bring  his  pitcher  to  the  fountain  of  honour — he's  too 
indifferent,  or  too  proud,  or  too-something  to  pay  his 
court  to  the  burrah  memsahibs. 

The    punka    has    been    getting    slower    and 

slower. 

BUCK.  [Who  has  been  watching  it]  Watch  1  The 
punka  wallah's  just  off. 

They  all  look  up.    The  punka  gives  a  little 

wriggle  and  almost  stops. 
There  he  goes  !    Here  endeth  the  first  snore. 

The  punka  gives  another  wriggle. 
DANGAN.  [Looking  up  from  his  book,  calls]  Punka 
kencho  !  kencho  ! 

A  faint  wriggle  and  the  punka  is  still.    FARAKER 

is  gazing  up. 
BUCK.  Sound  I 

He  goes  up  to  the  back,  taking  a  biscuit  from 

the  little  table  as  he  passes. 

FARAKER.  [Looking  up]  Curious — the  rhythmical 
movement  induces  sleep,  I  suppose. 

BUCKMASTER  o^ens  the  shutters,  looks  out  and 
shouts. 


24  THE   WHEEL  ACT  i 

BUCK.  Shaitan  ke  batcha !  Dwai.  [He  shies  the 
biscuit  vigorously]  Got  him  ! 

The  punka  gives  a  convulsive  jerk,  then  swings 

violently. 
Corking  good  shot — what  ?    [Laughing]. 

FARAKER.  [Coming  to  him]  Now,  in  my  view,  that 
is  the  cause  of  much  of  our  trouble  in  India. 

BUCK.  [Blankly]  What ! 

FARAKER.  [Pointing  with  his  glasses]  That  attitude 
to  the  native.  I  observed  you  awaken  that  man  by 
hurling  a  missile  at  him. 

MRS  F.  George,  don't  be  so  censorious. 

FARAKER.  My  dear,  I  feel  very  strongly  in  this 
matter.  In  my  view  this  cavalier  treatment  of  the 
native  is  at  the  bottom  of  the  anarchist  movement. 

DANGAN.  Inconsiderate  treatment  of  natives  is 
very  rare,  and  it's  getting  rarer. 

FARAKER.  Well,  I  hope  you're  right.  But  I  confess 
it's  extremely  alarming  to  pursue  one's  duties  knowing 
that  at  any  moment  one  may  find  oneself  confronted 
by  a  bomb. 

DANGAN.  [Laughing]  My  dear  George,  we  never 
think  of  it. 

O'REILLY.  We  mustn't. 

RUTH.  Suppose  the  officer  in  charge  of  a  powder 
magazine  spent  his  time  wondering  when  it  was 
going  to  blow  up. 

BUCK.  Did  you  ever  hear,  sir,  what  happened  to 
old  Hickson,  the  Collector  ? 

FARAKER.  No. 

BUCK.  Well,  after  the  Dinapur  outrage  Hickson 


ACT  i  THE   WHEEL  25 

never  went  anywhere  without  expecting  to  find  a 
bomb.  He  was  a  bit  hazy  on  the  nature  of  bombs, 
so  he  thought  of  a  great  plan.  He  used  to  keep  a 
bucket  of  water  in  every  room  in  his  bungalow 

FARAKER.  And  did  he 

BUCK.  No,  he  never  found  a  bomb.  But  about  once 
a  week  he  used  to  fall  over  one  of  the  buckets,  and 
at  last,  one  night  after  dinner  he  fell  over  the  bucket 
in  the  dining-room  and  broke  his  leg  in  two  places. 

O'REILLY.  Yes,  and  the  best  of  it  was  what 
Flanigan,  the  doctor,  said  after  he'd  set  his  leg  : 
"  Hickson,  my  advice  about  bombs  is — forget  them. 
It's  aisier  to  die  once  than  to  spend  yer  life  kickin' 
the  bucket." 

RUTH.  [Rising]  I'm  sure  George  would  like  a  rubber 
before 

FARAKER.  I  confess  I  should.  A  rubber  before 
retiring  is  a  habit  with  me — I  find  it  a  real  sedative. 

RUTH.  You'll  play,  Louise  ? 

MRS  F.  I'm  always  agreeable.    [Rising]. 

RUTH.  And  Tubbs — and  you  make  a  fourth,  Jack. 

DANGAN.  You  play,  dear ;  I'm  hopeless. 

RUTH.  No,  I  want  to  talk  to  Mr  O'Reilly.  [To 
MRS  FARAKER]  We  play  in  there. 

MRS  FARAKER  and  BUCKMASTER  go  out  to  the 
Right. 

FARAKER.  When  I  can't  get  a  rubber  I  find  a  game 
of  patience  an  admirable  narcotic. 

DANGAN.  Patience  will  help  you  a  lot,  George,  if 
you  get  me  for  a  partner. 

They  go  out.    RUTH  closes  the  door  and  turns 


26  THE   WHEEL  ACT  i 

to  O'REILLY,  who  has  been  pouring  himself 
out  a  peg. 

RUTH.  Well,  now,  what  is  this  wonderful  secret 
that  you  couldn't  tell  me  till  we  were  alone  ? 

O'REILLY.  [With  an  awkward  laugh]  I  don't  know 
that  it's  any  easier  now.  [Holding  up  his  glass]  May 
I  take  a  little  Dutch  courage  to  help  me  through  ? 

RUTH.  Sounds  rather  alarming,  Paddy.  Let  me 
get  quite  comfortable.  [She  settles  herself  in  a  long 
chair  with  her  feet  tip.  He  arranges  cushions  behind  her] 
Now,  I'm  ready  for  the  shock.  Wait — give  me  some 
plain  soda.  Then  I  shall  be  able  to  give  you  sober 
advice. 

He  pours  out  a  glass  of  soda. 

O'REILLY.  [Handing  her  the  glass]  Not  too  sober, 
memsahib.  I  want  sympathy. 

RUTH.  If  it's  sympathy  you  want  you  needn't  say 
another  word.  There  are  only  two  things  it  could  be 
at  your  age — either  you're  in  debt,  or  you're  in  love. 
If  you're  in  debt,  it  isn't  sympathy  you  want.  .  .  . 
Who  is  she,  Paddy  ?  Not  that  Johnson  girl  ? 

O'REILLY.  NO. 

RUTH.  Don't  say  it's  the  Cheevely-woman. 

O'REILLY.  Good  Heavens  !    No  ! 

RUTH.  That's  a  relief.  You're  just  the  kind  to  be 
caught.  Who  is  she  ? — I  can't  go  through  all  the  list. 
Do  I  know  her  ? 

O'REILLY.  [Nodding]  Miss  Murdoch. 

RUTH.  What  ?  the  little  girl  with  the  big  eyes  who 
never  opens  her  mouth  ? 

O'REILLY.  Oh !  she  can  talk  like  one  o'clock. 


ACT  i  THE   WHEEL  27 

RUTH.  Alone  in  a  corner — I  dare  say.  Paddy, 
you're  a  dreadful  flirt. 

O'REILLY.  No,  now,  memsahib.  It's  really  serious. 
We're  engaged. 

RUTH.  You're  what  ? 

O'REILLY.  We  want  to  be  married  in  three  months. 

RUTH.  Good  heavens  !  .  .  .  that  is  serious.  And 
now,  I  suppose  you  want  me  to  say  "  Bless  you,  my 
children." 

O'REILLY.  I  want  you  to  stick  up  for  us,  memsahib. 
Of  course,  I  know  what  the  C.O.  will  say 

RUTH.  "  Don't  be  a  d d  young  fool ! " 

O'REILLY.    That,  and  more. 

RUTH.  Well,  of  course,  I  congratulate  you.  I  hope 
you'll  be  ever  so  happy. 

O'REILLY.  Wait  till  you  know  her  well,  memsahib. 
I  know  she  seems  awfully  quiet,  but  she  thinks  an 
awful  lot,  and  she's  read  any  amount.  She  makes  me 
feel  a  regular  ass,  and — well,  she's  just  the  nicest  girl 
in  the  world. 

RUTH.  "  She  "  is  always  that.  [Laughing]  But — I 
think  I  feel  a  little  bit  like  a  mother  feels,  that  her  son 
is  being  taken  away  from  her  by  some  silly  young 
thing  who  doesn't  half  know  how  wonderful  he  is. 

O'REILLY.  Oh,  rot !  memsahib.  Why,  I'm  older 
than  you  are. 

RUTH.  Oh  1  years  are  nothing.  And  we  shall  lose 
you,  Paddy.  You'll  still  belong  to  the  regiment,  but 
not  as  you  belong  to  it  now.  [With  a  laugh]  And  the 
happier  you  are,  the  further  you'll  be  from  it — that's 
the  worst  of  it.  Not  at  first,  of  course,  but  in  a  year — 


28  THE   WHEEL  ACT  i 

two  years.  I  wonder  what  you'll  be  like  then — I 
wonder,  will  you  get  like  Major  Mallin — 

O'REILLY.  Oh  1    I  say  ! 

RUTH.  It's  funny ;  majors  always  seem  to  get  like 
that — married  and  monotonous. 

O'REILLY.  Don't  you  think  we're  right  ? 

RUTH.  Right  ? 

O'REILLY.  To  get  married. 

RUTH.  [Sitting  up,  looks  at  him,  smiling,  and  shakes 
her  head}  I  think  you're  extremely  foolish — and 
perfectly  right. 

O'REILLY.  Thanks,  memsahib. 

RUTH.  After  all,  if  you  know  that  she's  the  only 
one  in  the  world  for  you,  and  that  you  are  that  for 
her — what  else  can  matter  ?  You'll  be  miserably  poor 
and  blissfully  happy — and  you're  young,  so  you  can 
stand  a  lot  of  both.  [Holding  up  her  hands]  Bless  you, 
my  children.  [Laughing]  Don't  I  make  a  nice  old 
lady,  Paddy  ?  I'm  young  enough  to  enjoy  feeling  old. 

O'REILLY.  You're  a  real  brick,  memsahib. 

DANGAN.  [Outside]  No,  no,  I  spoil  the  game — and 
it's  not  fair  on  George.  [He  opens  the  door]. 

RUTH.  Bring  her  to  see  me  to-morrow.  I'll  do  all 
I  can 

DANGAN.  There  now,  I  said  it  would  happen — 
O'Reilly,  take  my  place,  like  a  good  fellow. 

O'REILLY.  [Going  Right]  Yes,  sir. 

DANGAN.  Revoked  in  the  first  hand.  And  the 
Lord  knows  what  besides — judging  from  George's  face. 

O'REILLY.  I  say,  sir,  I  hope  he  doesn't  think  I'm  a 
crack,  because 


ACT  i  THE   WHEEL  20 

DANGAN.  Oh  !  you'll  be  all  right. 

O'REILLY  goes  out. 

I  ought  to  be  blindfolded  at  bridge,  then  I  might  play 
a  right  card  by  accident. 

RUTH.  [Sitting  at  the  piano]  I  fancy  George  is  a 
trying  partner. 

DANGAN.  Trying  ! — like  playing  with  a  standing 
reproach.  But  I'm  worse  than  usual  to-night — 
couldn't  keep  my  mind  on  the  game.  I've  been  rather 
worried  about  something. 

She  begins  playing  Liszt's  "  Liebestraum  "  very 
softly.  He  lights  a  cigarette  and  stretches 
himself  in  an  armchair  Right.  A  pause. 

RUTH.  What  is  the  matter  ? 

DANGAN.  Oh  !  regimental  business — I  can't  tell 
you  just  now.  [A  pause]  Yes,  I  like  that  tune. 

RUTH.  [Laughing]  It  isn't  a  tune. 

DANGAN.  Well — it's  soothing,  whatever  it  is.  [For  a 
few  moments  she  plays  to  him  in  silence.] 

RUTH.  [Playing  more  softly]  Jack. 

DANGAN.  Yes  ? 

RUTH.  Did  you  know  that  Paddy  O'Reilly  is  going 
to  be  married  ? 

DANGAN.  What,  again  ? 

RUTH.  Again  ?  .  .  .  he's  not  been  married  before. 

DANGAN.  No — but  he's  been  going  to  be.  [Laughing]. 

RUTH.  It's  serious — this  time. 

DANGAN.  It  always  is.  He  wanted  to  get  married 
when  he  was  a  sub.  I  explained  the  regulations  to 
him — then  twice  since  that. 

RUTH.  Twice,  what  ? 


30  THE   WHEEL  ACT  i 

DANGAN.  Wanted  to  get  married.  He's  Irish — 
they're  all  like  that — Callaghan  was  the  same — always 
wanting  to  get  married.  It's  a  national  disease  with 
them — like  goitre  with  the  Swiss.  But  I  can't  worry 
about  O'Reilly.  I've  got  something  much  more 
important  to  think  of. 

RUTH.  What? 

DANGAN.  You'll  all  know  to-morrow — probably. 
It's  about  Yeullat. 

RUTH.  [Starting  slightly,  and  lingering  on  the  notes] 
Nothing's  happened  to  him  ? 

DANGAN.  No,  no.  I  promised  to  say  nothing  till — • 
Oh,  hang  it !  a  man  needn't  keep  secrets  from  his  wife 
— Yeullat 's  leaving  us. 

RUTH  stops  playing  abruptly,  staring  at  him. 

RUTH.  Leaving  ! — you  mean  going  on  leave  ? 

DANGAN.  [Shaking  his  head]  He's  exchanging — going 
for  good. 

RUTH  sits  perfectly  still,  staring  in  front  of  her. 

RUTH.  [Slowly,  after  a  pause]  But  it  isn't  possible. 

DANGAN.  You  would  have  thought  not.  I  expect 
he'll  be  in  to  see  me  to-night.  I've  heard  from  the 
Adjutant-General  at  Simla,  so  the  thing  is  settled  now 
— practically. 

RUTH.  Is  he  ...  going  soon  ? 

DANGAN.  As  soon  as  he's  heard  from  his  new  C.O. 
.  .  .  Marshall's  the  man's  name — 46th  Gurkhas ; 
they're  stationed  at  Kalpara. 

RUTH.  But  what  can  have  happened — why  should 
he  want  to  leave  us  ? 

DANGAN.  I'm  hanged  if  I  know  why.    No,  that's 


ACT  i  THE   WHEEL  31 

not  true.  He's  given  his  reasons — several.  He 
wants  to  save,  for  one  thing — says  he  can't  here. 
Then  he  wants  to  get  frontier  work — and  of  course 
he'll  get  plenty  of  that  in  the  Gurkhas.  And  several 
minor  reasons.  But  I  must  say  I  don't  think  he's 
behaving  well  to  the  regiment.  Confound  him  !  I 
believe  it's  nothing  but  sheer  restlessness,  when  all's 
said  and  done. 

RUTH.  Is  he — he's  not  in  any  trouble  ? 

DANGAN.  Trouble  ?  —  of  course  he's  not.  What 
trouble  could  he  be  in  ? 

RUTH.  In — debt.    He  might  be  in  debt. 

DANGAN.  Do  you  know,  I  never  asked  him  that. 
Yes,  it's  not  impossible.  Perhaps  something  can  be 
done — even  now.  I'd  do  a  good  deal  to  keep  Yeullat ; 
he's  the  best  officer  in  the  regiment — understands 
the  men.  Of  course,  if  he  wants  to  go,  we  can't  keep 
him.  But  it's  worth  trying. 

RUTH.  Why  did  he  ask  you  to  say  nothing  about 
his  going — do  you  know  ? 

DANGAN.  Well,  there  was  no  good  saying  anything 
till  it  was  settled.  He  told  me  he  hated  explanations 
— of  course,  naturally,  he  feels  leaving  us  all,  and — 
well,  he  asked  me  to  keep  it  quiet.  [A  pause.] 

RUTH.  Yes — I  understand. 

MAHOMET  enters  Right. 

MAHOMET.  Captain  Yeullat,  sahib. 

YEULLAT  comes  on.  He  is  a  tall,  spare, 
athletic-looking  man,  with  a  strong,  clear- 
cut  face  and  rather  deep-set  eyes. 

MAHOMET  withdraws. 


32  THE   WHEEL  ACT  i 

DANGAN.  The  very  man  I  wanted  to  see,  Yeullat. 

YEULLAT.  And  I  want  to  see  you,  sir — a  few  minutes 
when  you  can  spare  them.  [Shaking  hands  with 
RUTH]  How  are  you,  memsahib  ? 

RUTH.  Why  didn't  you  turn  up  at  mess  ? 

YEULLAT.  I've  been  turning  out  papers  and  having 
a  general  rummage. 

RUTH.  Jack's  sister  and  George  Faraker  have 
arrived.  She  wants  to  meet  you.  You  must  stay 
and  be  introduced. 

YEULLAT.  Delighted. 

RUTH.  You  and  Jack  want  to  talk  business  now. 
I'll  go  and  look  after  my  bridge  friends. 

YEULLAT  opens  the  door  for  her.    She  goes  out. 

DANGAN.  Well,  what  is  it,  Yeullat  ?  I  suppose 
you've  heard  from 

YEULLAT.  Yes,  sir,  I've  just  heard  from  Colonel 
Marshall.  [Taking  a  letter  from  his  pocket]  He 
writes  he'll  be  glad  to  have  me  at  once,  if  you've  no 
objection.  The  regiment  has  been  short  of  officers 
for  some  time,  and  .  .  .  This  is  his  letter. 

DANGAN  takes  the  letter  and  reads  it  through 
in  silence,  then  looks  up. 

YEULLAT.  I  can  be  ready  in  a  few  days.  I've 
cleared  up  most  of  my  affairs.  And  I  thought  I  could 
have  a  sale  of  my  belongings  the  day  after  to-morrow, 
and  then  get  away  the  next  day — perhaps. 

DANGAN  folds  the  letter  and  hands  it  to  him, 
then  sits  looking  in  front  of  him  for  a  moment 
in  silence. 

DANGAN.  When  you  came  to  me  about  exchanging, 


ACT  i  THE   WHEEL  33 

and  told  me  why  you  wanted  to  go,  I  gave  my  consent ; 
the  matter's  gone  through  now,  and — well,  I  wish 
I  hadn't,  I  wish  I'd  taken  more  time  to  consider — I 
don't  want  to  let  you  go.  Look  here,  Yeullat,  it's 
not  too  late  even  now — won't  you  think  it  over 
again  ? 

YEULLAT.  If  it  would  make  any  difference,  I  would. 
But  I  give  you  my  word,  sir,  I'd  thought  it  over  for 
all  I  was  worth  long  before  I  came  to  you. 

DANGAN.  How  long  have  you  been  with  the  regi- 
ment .  .  .  thirteen  years,  isn't  it  ? 

YEULLAT.  Almost. 

DANGAN.  That's  a  long  time,  you  know ;  you're 
not  like  a  youngster  who  hasn't  found  his  feet.  It's 
a  bad  thing  to  change  at  your  time — it  does  a  man 
no  good. 

YEULLAT.  I  realise  that. 

DANGAN.  I  don't  want  to  flatter  you,  but  between 
ourselves,  I  think  I'd  rather  lose  any  other  man  in 
the  regiment.  I  like  to  feel  that  some  day,  when  I'm 
on  the  shelf,  the  regiment  might  have  you  in  command. 

YEULLAT.  I  think  the  regiment  will  get  over  that 
loss,  sir. 

DANGAN.  Of  course,  you  know  your  own  business 
best,  but  your  reasons  for  going  .  .  .  they're  not 
enough.  I'd  never  have  exchanged  just  because  .  .  . 
tell  me  honestly  now — what  is  your  real  reason  for 
wanting  to  go  ? 

YEULLAT  gives  a  slight,  quick  start,  and  looks 
sharply  at  him  before  speaking. 

YEULLAT.  My  real  reason  ? 


84  THE   WHEEL  ACT  i 

DANGAN.  Yes ;  isn't  it  really  just  restlessness, 
desire  for  change  ? 

YEULLAT.  [Relieved]  Perhaps — I  don't  think  so. 

DANGAN.  You  told  me  you  wanted  to  save.  Why 
should  you  ?  You're  not  married,  and,  as  far  as  I 
know,  not  thinking  of  it,  are  you  ? — by  the  way,  did 
you  know  O'Reilly's  thinking  of  getting  married  ? 

YEULLAT.  [Smiling]  What — again,  sir  ! 

DANGAN.  [Laughing]  Yes,  that's  what  I  said.  But, 
seriously,  a  vague  desire  to  save  doesn't  justify  the 
step  you're  taking.  You're  not  in  debt,  Yeullat — is 
that  the  reason  ? 

YEULLAT.  [Hesitating]  Well — yes,  it  is — partly. 

DANGAN.  I  didn't  know  that.  How  much  do  you 
owe  ? 

YEULLAT.  I — I  don't  exactly  know 

DANGAN.  You  don't  know  ? 

YEULLAT.  I've  a  pretty  general  idea,  of  course. 

DANGAN.  A  couple  of  thousand — three  thousand 
rupees  ? 

YEULLAT.  I  should  think — about  that. 

DANGAN.  I  wish  you'd  told  me  this  before.  I 
ought  to  have  asked  you.  Now,  understand  me, 
Yeullat,  I'm  not  thinking  of  you — I'm  thinking  of 
the  regiment.  I'm  going  to  be  quite  selfish  in  this 
matter.  It's  perfectly  absurd  to  lose  the  best  man 
we've  got  for  three  thousand  rupees.  I've  got  nearly 
a  thousand  pounds  lying  at  Cox's — you  know  I  meant 
to  go  home  last  year — I'll  let  you  have  three  thousand, 
and  you  can  pay  me  whenever  you  like — I  don't  care 
when  it  is. 


ACT  i  THE   WHEEL  35 

YEULLAT.  It's  most  awfully  good  of  you,  sir.  I 
don't  quite  know  what  to  say — to  thank  you.  But 
I — I  couldn't  take  it.  It's  out  of  the  question. 

DANGAN.  Nonsense — if  you're  too  proud  you  can 
pay  me  interest. 

YEULLAT.  It's  not  that — I  can't  take  it.    I'm  sorry. 

DANGAN.  In  fact,  you've  made  up  your  mind  to 
go — and  there's  no  good  my  trying  to  alter  it. 

YEULLAT.  Yes,  sir.    I've  made  up  my  mind. 

DANGAN.  [With  slight  irritation]  Well,  it's  your 
affair — and  I  suppose  you  ought  to  know  best. 

YEULLAT.  I — I  hope,  sir,  you  won't  think  I'm  un- 
grateful— that  I'm  anxious  to  leave  the  regiment. 
Believe  me,  I — it  isn't  easy  for  me  to  go.  But  I've 
thought  it  out,  and  I  know  I  ought  to — I  know  I  must 

go- 

DANGAN.  [Putting  his  hand  on  his  shoulder]  My  dear 

fellow,  of  course  I  don't  think  that.  I  know  you're 
doing  what  you  think  right.  And  now  let's  say  no 
more  about  it.  [He  turns  and  goes  up  stage  a  little]  By 
the  way,  what  are  you  doing  with  that  Arab  mare — 
you're  not  taking  her  up  with  you  ? 

YEULLAT.  No,  I  couldn't  use  her  up  there — I'm 
afraid  I  must  sell  her. 

DANGAN.  I  should  like  to  buy  her  for  Ruth.  Ruth's 
very  fond  of  her — she's  ridden  her  a  good  deal.  What 
do  you  want  for  her  ? 

YEULLAT.  I  gave  Thompson  eighteen  hundred 
rupees  for  her. 

MRS  FARAKER  comes  on  with  RUTH,  follmved 
by  BUCKMASTER. 


36  THE   WHEEL  ACT  i 

DANGAN.  She's  worth  more  than  that  now.  But 
We'll  talk  of  this  to-morrow. 

YEULLAT  rises. 

RUTH.  Oh,  Louise,  I  want  to  introduce  Captain 
Yeullat.  Captain  Yeullat — Mrs  Faraker. 

MRS  F.  [Shaking  hands]  How  do  you  do  ?  I've  been 
hearing  wonderful  things  about  you. 

RUTH  goes  to  DANGAN. 

YEULLAT.  [Laughing]  I'm  afraid  they  must  have 
been  pulling  my  leg,  Mrs  Faraker. 

MRS  F.  Or  mine. 

YEULLAT.  Oh,  I  wouldn't  suggest  that. 

RUTH  [To  DANGAN]  Well  ? 

DANGAN.  H'm  !  [He  shakes  his  head  gloomily]. 

RUTH  turns  and  stands  staring  at  YEULLAT 
with  a  troiibled  expression.  FARAKER  and 
O'REILLY  come  on  talking  excitedly. 

FARAKER.  You  ought  to  have  led  a  small  trump, 
then  taken  over  mine  and  given  me  a  club,  and  we 
must  have  won  the  rubber. 

O'REILLY.  But  I  hadn't  got  a  club. 

FARAKER.  But  you  ought  to  have  had  a  club. 

O'REILLY.  But  I'd  discarded  it. 

FARAKER.  But  you  oughtn't  to  have  discarded  it. 

DANGAN.  Did  you  win,  George  ? 

FARAKER.  We  ought  to  have  won. 

MRS  F.  George  is  painfully  English — his  defeats  are 
always  moral  victories.  [Introducing  them]  My  husband 
— Captain  Yeullat. 

BUCK.  [Looking  up  at  the  motionless  punka]  By 
jove,  he's  asleep  again  ! 


ACT  i  THE   WHEEL  37 

Goes  up  to  open  the  shutters. 

FARAKER.  [Going  up]  One  moment !  Allow  me — 
now  you  just  allow  me  to  show  you  what  I  mean. 
I'll  set  him  to  work  again. 

BUCK.  Oh,  certainly. 

FARAKER.  I  know  the  words — I  heard  what  you  said. 
He  goes  out  at  the  back  and  disappears  to  the  left. 

BUCK.  I  say  !  There's  a  ripping  cool  breeze  got  up 
from  the  north.  [With  his  hand  on  the  shutters]  Shall 
I  open  the  jillmills,  memsahib  ? 

RUTH.  Oh,  please.  [He  throws  them  wide  open.  She 
comes  up.]  What  a  relief ! 

DANGAN.  [Looking  up]  Cis,  we  shall  have  to  keep 
George  to  look  after  our  coolies. 

MRS  F.  [Laughing]  He  began  reforming  India  the 
moment  he  landed. 

O'REILLY.  [Looking  up  at  the  motionless  punka] 
Don't  seem  to  have  much  effect. 

FARAKER  returns,  putting  on  his  glasses  and 
smiling. 

FARAKER.  Now  that  is  my  view  of  how  these  little 
things  might  be  done. 

MRS  F.  [Looking  up]  But  it  isn't  done,  George. 

FARAKER.  I  simply  shook  him  gently  by  the  shoulder 
and  said — quite  nicely — "  Sheitan  kabutcha." 

They  all  laugh  except  FARAKER  and  his  WIFE. 

FARAKER.  [Looking  round]  Really,  I 

DANGAN.  [Going  to  him]  My  dear  George,  "sheitan 
kabutcha"  means  "son  of  the  devil."  Your  words 
meant  an  insult,  and  your  polite  manner  meant 
nothing. 


38  THE  WHEEL  ACT  i 

Points   up   to   the   punka,   which   moves   not. 

FARAKER  remains  staring  at  it. 
RUTH.  We  shan't  want  him  now — tell  him. 

To  BUCKMASTER. 

BUCK.  [Going  out  and  calling]  Mut  Kencho.     Jao  ! 
FARAKER.  [Taking  off  his  glasses]  Of  course  I  erred 
from  ignorance. 

DANGAN.  [Laughing]  What  a  motto,  George,  for 
Government  offices  at  home  — "  WTe  err  from 
ignorance."  It  might  teach  'em  to  trust  the  man  on 
the  spot. 

The  coolie  passes  the  opening  at  the  back,  salaams, 

and  disappears. 

MRS  F.  [Rising]  I  think,  Ruth,  it's  bed-time  for  us. 
RUTH.  I'll  ring  for  your  ayah  [Pressing  bell]. 
DANGAN.  You've  had  a  long  day. 
FARAKER.  I'm  distinctly  tired— distinctly. 
RUTH.  You'll  be  able  to  sleep,  it's  gone  so  much 
cooler. 

In  the  distance  men's  voices  can  be  heard  singing 
the  clprus  of  "  Hello  I  hello  1  hello  !    It's  a 
different  girl  again." 
MRS  F.  Whatfs  that  singing  ? 
FARAKER.  Yes,  I'd  already  remarked  it. 
DANGAN.  Smoking  concert,  I  think. 
BUCK.  [Humming]   "  Hello  !    hello  !  hello  !    it's  a 
different  girl  again."    That's  Paddy's  favourite  song. 
O'REILLY.  Shut  up  ! 

MAHOMET  enters. 
RUTH.  Buttie  lao — Ayah  ko  bhejhdo. 

MAHOMET  goes  out. 


ACT  i  THE  WHEEL  39 

DANGAN.  Isn't  that  the  Lancers'  smoker  ? 
YEULLAT.  Yes,  sir.    They  start  for  home  to-morrow. 
BUCK.  [Fixing  his  eyeglass]  By  Jove  1  the  station'll 
be    positively    littered    with    broken     hearts     for 
months. 

O'REILLY.  [To  MRS  FARAKER]  That's  where  Tubbs 
comes  in. 

MRS  F.  [Laughing]  Universal  consoler. 
O'REILLY.  Putting  the  pieces  together — he  has  a 
kind  of  sticky  philosophy  that's  irresistible. 

BUCK.  You're  too  brilliant  to  be  up  so  late — come 
along.  [Going  up  to  RUTH]  Time  we  were  off, 
memsahib. 

He  says  good-night  to  her. 

O'REILLY.    Good-night,    Mrs    Faraker.     [Shaking 
hands]  Got  to  do  as  I'm  old. 
MRS  F.  What — before  you're  married  ? 
O'REILLY.  You  coming,  Tim  ? 
YEULLAT.  Presently. 

O'REILLY  goes  up  to  RUTH. 
O'REILLY.  Good-night,  memsahib. 
BUCK.    Good-night,    Mr    Faraker.    [To    DANGAN] 
Good-night,  sir. 

They  say  good-night  all  round,  then  go  out  as 
MAHOMET  enters  with  four  shaded  candles 
on  a  tray,  which  he  places  on  the  piano, 
then  lights  two  candles  in  response  to  a  word 
from  RUTH.  The  AYAH  appears  on  the 
verandah  outside. 

MRS  F.  [Rising]  Come  along,  George. 
FARAKER.  [Turning]  Eh?    Oh! — yes!   [He resumes 


40  THE   WHEEL  ACT  i 

boring  DANGAN,  with  outstretched  glasses] — and  as  I 
was  saying — the  natives — in  my  view — [The  rest  is 
lost.] 

MRS  F.  [To  YEULLAT]  Good-night.  Are  you  play- 
ing to-morrow  ? 

YEULLAT.  Yes.    I  play  for  the  regiment. 

MRS  F.  We  shall  meet  again,  then.  [She  goes  up] 
Good-night,  Ruth. 

RUTH.  Good-night,  dear.    [They  kiss]. 

DANGAN.  A  night-cap,  George.  [Indicating  the 
whisky]. 

FARAKER.  [Dazed  at  suddenly  being  hauled  out  of  his 
discussion]  Ah  !  er  !  [With  emphasis]  No  !  I  never 
take  anything  before  going  to  bed. 

MRS  F.  Yes,  dear,  you  take  a  candle.  [Handing 
him  one  lighted  candle  and  taking  the  other  herself] 
Good-night,  Jack. 

DANGAN.  [Kissing  her  cheek]  Good-night. 

RUTH.  Along  the  verandah  is  the  easiest — your 
room's  the  fourth — the  ayah'll  show  the  way. 

MRS  FARAKER  goes  out  on  the  verandah  and 
disappears  Left  with  the  AYAH. 

FARAKER.  [Following,  candle  in  hand]  Good-night, 
good-night.  Good-night,  Ruth. 

YEULLAT.  Good-night. 

FARAKER.  [Outside]  I  suppose  there's  no  danger  of 
our  encountering — er — any  creatures — any  reptiles  ? 

DANGAN.  Good  Lord  !  You  don't  expect  to  see 
snakes  after  one  whisky  and  soda  ! 

RUTH.  [Going  out]  No,  no — it's  quite  safe. 

FARAKER  goes  off  Left. 


ACT  i  THE   WHEEL  41 

And  the  cheetah's  had  his  supper. 

FARAKER  and  MRS  F.  [Outside]  Good-night — good- 
night. 

RUTH.  Good-night. 

DANGAN.  I  don't  know  why  it  is,  but  the  effect 

George  has  on  me  is  to  give  me  a  confounded  thirst. 

Pouring  himself  out  a  drink.] 

RUTH.  [Holding  up  her  hand]  Hush  ! 

DANGAN.  [In  a  whisper.  Laughing]  Have  a  peg, 
Yeullat  ? 

YEULLAT.  No,  thanks. 

RUTH.  [Speaking  softly  as  she  comes  in]  His  views 
on  everything  seem  to  have  come  out  of  books — the 
wrong  books. 

YEULLAT.  Mrs  Faraker  seems  a  very  charming 
woman. 

RUTH.  Oh,  she's  a  dear — she's  sure  to  be  a  great 
success. 

DANGAN.  Yes,  and  George  will  take  it  all  to  himself. 
[He  finishes  his  drink  and  sets  down  the  glass]  Yeullat, 
I've  been  telling  my  wife  to-night  about  this  business 
— about  your  going.  I  knew  you  wouldn't  mind — 
now  it's  settled. 

YEULLAT.  Oh,  of  course  not,  sir. 

RUTH  is  standing  looking  out  at  the  back. 

DANGAN.  I  needn't  tell  you  that  she  feels  your 
leaving  us  every  bit  as  much  as  I  do — don't  you, 
Ruth? 

RUTH.  I  can't  understand  it — [Turning] — it  seems 
so  absurd — just  the  kind  of  thing  that  couldn't 
happen. 


42  THE   WHEEL  ACT  i 

YEULLAT.  I'm — awfully  sorry  to  go,  memsahib. 
You — you've  all  been  so  awfully  good  to  me.  But  it 
just  can't  be  helped — so  I've  got  to  make  the  best  of  it. 

DANGAN.  Of  course  we'll  see  you  again — you  must 
come  and  stay  with  us,  the  first  leave  you  get. 

YEULLAT.  Thanks.  India's  not  a  very  big  world 
after  all. 

RUTH.  You'll  be  on  the  frontier  most  of  the  time  ? 

YEULLAT.  Yes,  Bhutan  way.  I  expect  I  shall  be 
kept  pretty  well  fed  up  with  work. 

DANGAN.  You'll  soon  be  sighing  for  the  flesh-pots 
of  Jagpur.  By  the  way,  Ruth,  I'm  going  to  buy 
Tara  for  you. 

RUTH.  You're  going  to  part  with  Tara  ? 

YEULLAT.  I  shan't  feel  I've  parted  with  her  if  she's 
with  you.  I  wish,  sir — I  hate  the  idea  of  selling  her 
— I  wish  you'd  just  let  me  leave  her  with  you  for 
Mrs  Dangan  to  ride. 

DANGAN.  Nonsense,  nonsense — never  heard  of  such 
a  thing  ! 

YEULLAT.  I  mean  it,  sir.  I  can't  take  her,  and  I'd 
really  rather  not  sell  her.  You'd  be  doing  me  a 
favour,  and 

DANGAN.  Preposterous !  But  we'll  settle  all  that 
to-morrow.  I'm  going  to  bed  now.  I'm  dog  tired, 
and  we've  got  early  parade. 

YEULLAT.  ["Rising]  Yes — it's  quite  time. 

RUTH.  Don't  go  yet. 

DANGAN.  No,  no  need  for  you  to  go — you're  young. 
Besides,  though  I've  agreed  to  say  no  more  [Putting 
his  hand  on  RUTH'S  shoulder]  I  imagine  Ruth  would 


ACT  I  THE   WHEEL  43 

like  to  try  and  show  you  the  error  of  your  ways.    Good 
night,  Yeullat. 

YEULLAT.  Good  night,  sir. 

DANGAN  goes  out  through  the  door  on  the  Left. 

YEULLAT.  I  really  ought  to  be  going,  memsahib. 

RUTH.  [Shaking  her  head]  No.  I  want  to  ask  you — 
a  lot  of  things.  [She  sits  on  the  settee]. 

He  looks  at  her  for  a  second,  then  sits  down. 
Tim,  why  wasn't  I  told  of  this  ?  We've  been  good 
friends,  haven't  we  ? 

YEULLAT.  Yes. 

RUTH.  We've  seen  each  other  every  day,  we've 
talked  of  everything  under  the  sun,  and  never  a  word 
of  this — [Quickly]  and  it's  funny.  I  knew  some- 
thing was  coming,  knew  it,  felt  it — as  one  feels  a 
thunderstorm  before  a  cloud's  in  the  sky. 

YEULLAT.  I  didn't  see  the  good  of  worrying  you 

about  it  till  there  was  something  definite  to  tell.    I 

[He  hesitates]. 

RUTH.  I  should  have  thought  you'd  have  told  me 
before  anyone — I  thought  I  was  your  best  friend 

YEULLAT.  You're  the  best  friend  I  shall  ever  have. 

RUTH.  Were  you  afraid  I  should  try  to  prevent  your 
going? 

YEULLAT.  Perhaps — yes,  I  suppose  I  was. 

RUTH.  You  were  right.  I  should  have  tried.  I 
don't  want  you  to  go.  I  don't  know  why  on  earth 
you're  going — at  least,  Jack  told  me  the  reasons  you 
gave  him,  but  they're  nothing — they're  nothing.  You 
wanted  to  save,  he  said.  We  thought  you  might  be  in 
debt,  but  I  know  it  can't  be  that — not  seriously. 


44  THE   WHEEL  ACT  i 

YEULLAT.  The  C.O.  was  most  awfully  good  about 
it — he  wants  to  lend  me  money.  I  couldn't  take  it, 
of  course.  Besides,  it  isn't  only  that 

RUTH.  Then  what  ?  It's  not  for  better  chances  of 
promotion  ?  You're  not  gaining  by  going,  Tim ; 
you're  losing. 

YEULLAT.  I  want  more  active  work.  I'm  pretty 
sure  to  see  some  fighting — I  shall  get  chances 

RUTH.  [Shaking  her  head]  Tim,  not  one  of  these 
reasons  is  the  least  bit  real.  Don't  you  think  I  know  ? 
I  want  to  ask  you  a  question.  Have  I  anything  to  do 
with  your  going  ? 

YEULLAT.  You,  memsahib — how  could  you  ? 

RUTH.  Tell  me  the  truth.  I  want  to  know,  I  must. 
Are  you  going  because  of  me  ? 

YEULLAT.  [Firmly,  and  looking  straight  at  her,  after  a 
pause]  No. 

She  looks  at  him  for  a  second,  then  goes  up  and 
stands  looking  out  into  the  night.  A  slight 
pause. 

RUTH.  Yes.  I  knew  you  must  answer  that.  That 
was  like  yourself.  [She  turns  and  comes  down}  But 
it's  no  use,  Tim,  because  I  know — I  have  known  for  a 
long  time.  [She  speaks  slowly  and  quietly,  and  stands 
watching  him,  with  a  plaintive  smile  on  her  lips} 
YEULLAT  sits  rigid,  his  mouth  tightly  closed,  staring  at 
the  ground. 

After  a  pause. 
Well  ? 

YEULLAT.  [After  a  moment's  silence,  speaking  with 
effort]  Well  .  .  .  you  see  now  ...  I  must  go. 


ACT  i  THE   WHEEL  45 

RUTH.  Why  ?  Why  couldn't  we  go  on  just  as  we 
were — just  friends  ?  We  might  have — if  you  hadn't 
broken  it — broken  the  spell.  And  it  was  so  good 
.  .  .  our  friendship  ...  it  could  have  gone  on  and 
on  ...  and  then,  suddenly,  this  .  .  .  and  it's  all  a 
ruin.  Oh  !  why  couldn't  you  let  things  be  as  they 
were  ? 

YEULLAT.  [With  sudden,  passionate  force]  I 
couldn't ! 

RUTH.  [After  a  pause]  Yes — I  understand. 

YEULLAT  [in  a  low  voice]  I  was  afraid — I  knew  I 
couldn't  go  on  seeing  you  day  after  day  and  not  speak. 
I  was  beginning  to  be  afraid  of  myself — the  only 
strength  left  was — strength  to  go.  I — [abruptly] 
I'm  a  fool.  Why  am  I  saying  this  ?  Forgive  me, 
memsahib — I  meant 

RUTH.  Just  to  go — without  a  question  ...  a 
thought  of  what  was  broken — what  was  hurt. 

YEULLAT.  There's  nothing  else — 

RUTH.  And  when  you've  gone  ? 

YEULLAT.  Well — then  it'll  be  all  right. 

RUTH.  And  what  is  to  become  of  me  ? 

YEULLAT.  [Staring  at  her]  You  ? 

RUTH.  There  is  no  place  for  me  to  go  to.  I  shall 
be  here,  living  on  ...  day  after  day  .  .  .  the  old 
life — in  an  empty  house. 

YEULLAT.  You  ! — memsahib — but  what  is  it — you 
don't — you  don't  care  .  .  .  like  that  ? 

RUTH.  Do  you  think  I  would  have  made  you  speak 

— if  I  hadn't [She  turns  away  with  a  sudden  cry] 

Oh,  I  can't  bear  it !— I  can't  bear  it !  [She  leans  on  the 


46  THE   WHEEL  ACT  i 

piano,  hiding  her  face  in  her  hands.  He  stands  staring 
at  her.  In  a  moment  she  looks  up,  clenching  her  hands]. 
No — no  !  I  mustn't  say  that 

YEULLAT.  I  never  knew. 

RUTH.  Tim,  do  you  remember  a  day — four  months 
ago  nearly — we'd  been  for  a  long  ride  by  the  Ghauts, 
and  on  the  way  back  we  stopped  at  the  ruin  of  the 
Siva  Temple.  I  had  climbed  up — I  was  lying  on  the 
broken  gate  pillar,  leaning  over,  and  you  were  stand- 
ing below.  We  were  talking  Buddhism,  and  I  said  I 
believed  in  re-incarnation — that  I  wanted  to  believe 
in  it.  And  you  asked  me  what  I  thought  I  was,  before 
I  was  myself. 

YEULLAT  bends  his  head  in  acquiescence. 
And — I  didn't  know  what  I  was  saying,  it  just  came 
out — I  said  :  "  Something  where  you  were." 

YEULLAT.  Yes. 

RUTH.  For  a  second  there  was  a  strange  light  in 
your  eyes,  but  you  looked  away  at  once.  Well,  I 
knew  then — I  knew  about  you,  and  about  myself. 
I  felt  as  if  I'd  been  lifted  up,  suddenly,  to  the  top  of 
a  mountain,  and  down  below,  far,  far  below,  the  whole 
world  with  the  sun  on  it 

YEULLAT.  Yes,  it  was  that  day.  I  never  dreamt 
you  knew.  ...  It  stunned  me.  ...  I  could  think  of 
nothing  but  you  .  .  .  and  then,  I  began  to  hate 
myself,  almost. 

RUTH.  I  suppose  we  are  different.  I  remember 
nothing  else — on  the  way  home — I  couldn't  hear  what 
you  said — I  didn't  see  what  we  passed — I  remember 
nothing  but  the  sound  of  the  horses'  hoofs,  beating 


ACT  i  THE   WHEEL  47 

on  the  road,  beating,  beating,  "  I  love  you — I  love  you 
— I  love  you."  ...  I  was  mad. 

YEULLAT.  Ruth ! 

RUTH.  And  then,  soon,  when  I  had  come  to  myself, 
I  hid  it  away — the  sudden  joy  that  had  come.  I  never 
thought  of  it,  I  never  looked  at  it — I  just  knew  that 
hidden  away  in  my  heart  was  the  most  wonderful 
thing  in  the  world  .  .  .  and  I  was  happy.  ...  I 
could  have  gone  on  being  happy  .  .  .  just  like  that 
...  on  and  on.  [Suddenly]  Tim,  why  are  you  going  ? 
.  .  .  You  needn't  .  .  .  you  needn't. 

YEULLAT.  Now  more  than  ever,  memsahib.  .  .  . 
Good  God  !  yes.  After  to-night — if  I  stayed,  do 
you  think  I  could  look  the  C.O.  in  the  face  and  not 
feel No,  no,  there's  only  one  thing  to  do. 

RUTH.  [Nodding  her  head  slowly]  Yes,  it's  right — I 
suppose  that's  right.  I  know  I  care  for  him  as  I  have 
always  cared  for  him.  He's  the  best  ...  I  couldn't 
hurt  him.  If  he  were  different  it  would  be  be — so  easy. 

YEULLAT.  It's  my  fault  from  the  beginning.  At 
the  first  thought — I  should  have  gone — leave,  any- 
thing. And  I've  let  you  drag  it  out  of  me — that's 
made  it  harder  now  for  both  of  us.  Memsahib,  you 
knew  .  .  .  you  knew.  Why  did  you  make  me  tell  you  ? 

RUTH.  I  don't  know.  [With  a  little  shrug  of  her 
shoulders]  I  suppose  women  are  like  that.  We  know 
the  hidden  things  by  instinct— yet  can't  leave  them 
hidden.  They  must  come  out — and  give  up  their 
mysteries.  [She  turns  away  and  sits  at  the  piano, 
staring  at  the  notes]  Will  you  write  to  me  ?  [A  slight 
patise.] 


48  THE   WHEEL  ACT  i 

YEULLAT.  No,  memsahib. 

RUTH.  [After  a  pause]  No.  [She  bends  her  head 
several  times]  You'll  come  sometimes — when  you  get 
leave  ? 

YEULLAT.  No,  memsahib.  [A  pause]  It's  got  to 
be  final. 

RUTH.  [After  a  pause]  Final.  [One  hand  wanders 
aimlessly  over  the  keys,  playing  broken  snatches  of  melody. 
She  breaks  off  abruptly]  What  have  we  done,  that  life 
should  do  this  to  us  ? 

He  looks  at  her  for  a  second,  then  turns  away, 
clenching  his  hands,  and  stands  looking  out 
at  the  back.  Again  the  chorus  of  "  Manda- 
lay  "  is  heard  faintly  in  the  distance.  After 
a  time  he  turns. 

YEULLAT.  Good  night,  memsahib — I've  got  to  be 
going.  And  it  will  be  good-bye,  too. 

RUTH.  [Rising]  I  shall  see  you  to-morrow — and 
next  day 

YEULLAT.  With  the  whole  of  the  station — to  say 
good-bye. 

RUTH.  [Farcing  a  laugJi\  The  penalty  of  popularity 
— you're  paying  now. 

YEULLAT.  And,  memsahib,  we  mustn't  think,  we 
mustn't  think.  We  must  find  plenty  to  do — then  it'll 
be  forgotten — forgotten. 

RUTH.  Yes.  [Nodding]  I  can  only  be  honest  with 
myself.  I  can  promise  that  some  day  ...  I  will 
try  to  forget.  [A  pause]  But  not  yet. 

YEULLAT.  Good-bye — memsahib. 

RUTH.  [Giving  him  both  her  hands]  Good-bye — Tim. 


ACT  i  THE   WHEEL  49 

He  takes  her  hands,  then  bends  down  as  though 
about  to  kiss  them,  then  stops,  with  a  short, 
hard  laugh. 

YEULLAT.  We  just  mustn't  think.    [He  wrings  her 

hands,  turns  quickly,  and  goes  out  through  the  compound]. 

RUTH   stands  motionless  with  her  hands  still 

stretched   out.    "  God  save  the  King "    is 

heard  in  the  distance,  played  by  a  regimental 

band.    She  looks  round  dazed,  then  presses 

bell,  and  leaning  against  the  shutter,  stands 

looking  off  after  YEULLAT. 

In  a  few  moments  MAHOMET  appears. 
MAHOMET.  Memsahib. 

RUTH.  [Withotit  turning]  Buttiebujao.  Mourn  buttle 
cilgao.    Our  kutch  nay  chahiyeh. 

MAHOMET  puts  out  the  standard  lamp,  lights  a 
candle,  puts  out  the  lamp  on  the  piano, 
then  goes  noiselessly  off.  The  room  is  dark 
save  for  the  flickering  candle.  RUTH  stands 
silhouetted  against  the  moonlit  compound 
outside.  In  the  distance  a  bugle  sounds 
"  Lights  out."  Then,  a  second  later  another 
further  away.  RUTH  closes  the  shutters 
and  bolts  them,  then  goes  to  the  piano,  where 
she  stands  motionless  in  the  candle  light. 
She  bends  over  the  piano,  hiding  her  face  in 
her  hands,  crying  silently. 


CURTAIN. 


ACT  II 


SECOND  ACT 

SCENE  : — The  Llakhang  (hall  of  the  gods)  at  Sana  Gompa, 
a  Buddhist  monastery  in  the  Himalaya  of  Bhutan. 
The  ceiling  is  supported  by  heavy  beams.  In  the 
back  wall  of  the  scene,  which  is  set  obliquely,  the 
centre  is  occupied  by  a  wide  entrance,  flanked  by 
polygonal  columns  of  red  wood,  with  carved  and 
elongated  capitals.  This  entrance  is  closed  by 
heavy  curtains  of  coarse  crimson  serge,  crossed  by 
two  horizontal  yellow  stripes  and  finished  at  the 
lop  by  a  valance.  The  curtains  are  at  present 
drawn  back,  showing  a  corridor  outside.  In  the 
wall  of  the  corridor,  opposite  the  entrance,  is  an 
opening  of  the  same  width,  guarded  by  a  four-fool 
parapet,  and  looking  out  over  the  hills,  range  upon 
range,  and  in  the  distance  snow-capped  peaks. 
Outside  on  the  right,  near  the  opening,  a  couple  of 
bare  tree  stems  stick  up  from  below,  to  which  are 
attached  silken  streamers,  prayer  flags,  fluttering 
in  the  wind.  Further  to  the  left  can  be  seen  the 
lop  of  the  spire  of  a  Chorten,  with  the  carving  of 
a  lotus  on  the  point.  On  the  right  corner  of  the 
parapet  stands  a  large  earthen  pitcher.  In  the 
hall,  on  either  side  of  the  entrance,  are  wall  cup- 
boards, breast-high,  full  of  pigeon-holes,  containing 
the  sacred  books.  On  the  walls  above  are  frescoes, 

53 


54  THE   WHEEL  ACT  n 

on  the  right  scenes  from  the  life  of  Buddha,  on  the 
left  a  huge  painting  of  the  Wheel  of  Life.  Near 
the  left  side  of  the  entrance  stands  a  tall  lamp  in 
wrought  brass  in  ivhich  a  flame  is  burning.  In 
front  of  this  is  a  low  divan.  Further  down  to  the 
right  are  three  or  four  bulging  sacks  with  a  side- 
saddle placed  on  them,  a  piece  of  improvised 
furniture  obviously  of  recent  introduction.  In  the 
centre  of  the  left  wall,  which  is  covered  with  frescoes, 
is  a  door.  In  the  centre  of  the  right  side  of  the 
scene  is  an  altar  with  two  tiers,  on  which  is  seated 
a  huge  gilt  image  of  the  Buddha.  Above  its 
head  hangs  a  small  punka,  and  below,  a  row  of  small 
lamps  with  reflectors  throw  the  light  up  it,  making 
it  look  ghostly  in  the  flickering  glare.  On  the 
tiers  of  the  altar  are  a  number  of  brass  and  copper 
butter  lamps,  with  tiny  wicks,  burning,  a  silver 
model  of  a  chorten,  a  looking-glass  and  all  kinds 
of  bells,  vessels  and  little  shrines  in  silver,  copper 
and  brass.  Silken  streamers  hang  in  clusters  over 
the  altar  ;  in  front  of  it  tankhas,  or  frameless  pictures. 
Everything  is  old,  faded,  dim  in  colour.  On  either 
side  of  the  altar  stand  dark,  towering  figures  of  the 
lamaistic  saints,  looking  out  between  the  row  of 
pillars  which  extends  down  the  right  side  of  the 
scene.  The  wall  on  this  side  is  invisible,  so  that 
the  figures  stand  forward  in  niches  of  gloom.  A 
prayer  drum  and  a  couple  of  huge  bronze  trumpets 
on  a  stand  are  on  eitJier  side  of  the  altar.  The 
amber  light  of  late  evening  streams  in  from  outside, 
making  a  pathway  down  the  centre  of  the  scene. 


ACT  ii  THE  WHEEL  55 

The  left  side  of  the  scene  is  in  the  warm  yellow 
light  from  the  tall  lamp.  The  right  side  of  the  scene 
is  in  gloom,  save  from  the  flickering  lamplight  on 
the  image  of  the  Buddha. 

When  the  curtain  rises  an  old  LAMA  in  the 
yellow  robe  of  the  Gelukpa  sect  is  discovered 
sealed  cross-legged  on  a  low  divan  in  the 
right  corner  above  the  altar.  His  white 
hair  is  cut  close,  and  his  clean-shaven  face 
is  much  wrinkled  and  the  colour  of  old 
ivory.  He  is  lost  in  contemplation  and 
gazing  before  him  into  vacancy.  On  the 
ground,  a  little  to  the  left  and  further  down, 
a  young  Getsul,  or  novice,  sits  cross-legged, 
swinging  a  little  prayer  wheel  and  staring  at 
the  Buddha.  Outside  in  the  corridor,  on  the 
right  of  the  opening  at  the  back,  a  NATIVE 
OFFICER  belonging  to  a  Gurka  regiment  is 
crouching  down  and  watching  something 
intently  through  field-glasses,  which  rest 
on  the  ledge.  After  a  few  moments'  silence 
three  distant  rifle  shots  are  heard  on  the 
left.  The  OFFICER  quickly  swings  his 
glasses  round  in  the  direction  of  the  shots, 
then  drawing  back  from  the  parapet,  crosses 
the  opening  and  crouches  down  close  to 
the  parapet  on  the  left,  looking  out  in 
that  direction.  The  young  Getsul  rises  a 
moment  later,  and  sloivly  crossing  the 
corridor,  goes  out  Right.  A  few  moments' 
silence,  then  a  single  shot  in  the  distance. 


56  THE  WHEEL  ACT  n 

Silence  again,  then  three  deep  blasts  on  a 
brazen  trumpet  are  heard,  then  a  deep-toned 
bell  begins  to  toll.  The  LAMA  bends  his 
head  three  times  towards  the  Buddha,  and 
his  lips  begin  to  move  as  he  murmurs  the 
ten  precepts,  the  three  refuges,  etc.  Only 
occasionally  is  the  sound  of  his  voice  audible. 
A  Gurkha  HAVILDAR  and  TROOPER  enter 
Right,  and  stand  behind  the  OFFICER. 
OFFICER.  [Turning]  Such  hai — woh  shungar  unke 
kubse  men  hai. 

HAVILDAR.  Main  ne  dekha  ke  wey  tangi  huay  hain. 
OFFICER.  Madaren  sahib  ko  bolo  khub  unko  yehan 
se  dekh  sukhtey  hain. 

The  TROOPER  salutes  and  goes  off  Right. 
The  HAVILDAR  crouches  down  beside  the 
OFFICER  peering  over  the  parapet.  The  bell 
stops. 

THE  LAMA.  [His  voice  rising  in  prayer]  Namo  tassa 
b'agavato  arahato  sammasambudd'assa  !  Evam  me 
sutam :  Ekam  samajam  B'agava  .  .  .  [His  voice 
falls  away,  only  his  lips  move]. 

The  OFFICER  and  HAVILDAR  murmur  together 
about  something ;  only  the  tones  are  audible. 
A  pause. 

LAMA.  .  .  .  kakk'ukarani  nanakarani  upasamaja 
ab'innaja  sambod'aja  nibbanaja  samvattati.  .  .  . 

His  voice  dies  away.  MACLAREN,  a  ruddy- 
faced,  red-headed  young  officer  in  Gurkha 
uniform,  appears  in  the  corridor  with  the 
TROOPER. 


ACT  ii  THE   WHEEL  57 

HAVILDAR.  [Turning]  Neche  bitho,  huzoor — asta  lo. 
MACLAREN  creeps  up  and  takes  the  HAVILDAR'S 
place.    Two  more  shots.    MACLAREN  takes 
the  glasses  from  the  OFFICER.    A  pause. 
LAMA.  Sammavaka,  sammakammanto. 
Sammaagivo  sammavajano. 
Sammasati  sammasamadi. 
His   voice   dies   away.    Again   two   shots   are 
heard,  then  silence.    After  a  few  moments 
YEULLAT  comes  on  Right.    He  is  in  Gurkha 
uniform  and  bareheaded.    He  stands  some 
way  behind  MACLAREN. 
YEULLAT.  [After  a  pause]  Well  ? 
MACLAREN.  [Turning  and  nodding  his  head]  Quite 
right. 

He  hands  the  field-glasses  back  to  the  NATIVE 
OFFICER,    scrambles    back    to    YEULLAT'S 
side  and  rises.     The  two  come  down  together. 
MACLAREN.  Yes,    it's    right    enough — the    beggars 
have  occupied  that  boulder  now — swarming  on  it. 
YEULLAT.  Humph  !    Well,  we're  no  worse  off. 
MACLAREN.  No.  [Shaking    his    head]  Except    they 
can  enfilade  the  openings  on  this  side  now. 

YEULLAT.  The  only  place  one  could  get  a  breath 
of  fresh  air  without  a  bullet  in  it.  [Sitting  on  the  saddle] 

I  say,  the  stink  downstairs [Takes  a  map  from 

his  pocket], 

MACLAREN.  [Nodding]  Pretty  poisonous. 
YEULLAT.  Wheugh !      These      old     lamas     have 
developed  the  most  powerful  odour  of  sanctity  that 
I've  ever 


58  THE   WHEEL  ACT  n 

MACLAREN.  [In    a    lower    voice]  Take     care — the 
Lama's  there.    [Nodding  his  head  in  the  direction  of 
the  LAMA]. 
YEULLAT.  What  ? 

Spreading  the  map  on  the  ground  in  front  of 

him.    MACLAREN  comes  close  to  him. 
MACLAREN.  He  can  understand  you. 

YEULLAT  points  incredulously  to  the  LAMA. 
He  knows  English  pretty  well.  Seems  someone  took 
him  over  there  about  twenty  years  ago — theosophists 
or  something. 

YEULLAT.  Did  they,  by  Jove  ! 
MACLAREN.  I  only  found  out  the  day  before  yes- 
terday.  .   .   .   Faraker    told    me   ...   he'd    been 
talking  to  him. 

YEULLAT  bends  over  the  map  and  begins  making 
notes    in    a    pocket-book.      The    NATIVE 
OFFICER  rises  and  says  something  in  a  low 
tone  to  the  HAVILDAR,  who  salutes  and  goes 
off  Right,  then  after  a  word  to  MACLAREN, 
who  has  come  up,  follows  the  HAVILDAR  off. 
MACLAREN  takes  a  stump  of  a  cigarette  from 
his  case,  fastens  it  in  the  hinge  end  of  a  hair- 
pin which  he  uses  as  holder,  then  strikes  a 
match  and  comes  down  to  YEULLAT. 
MACLAREN.  [Lighting  up]  Wonderful  how  precious 
.  .  .  tobacco  gets  .  .  .  when  there's  a  chance  of  ... 
[Blows  out  the  match]  I've  had  three  smokes  out  of  this 
cigarette. 

YEULLAT.  [Looking  at  him]  What's  that  wire  en- 
tanglement? 


ACT  ii  THE   WHEEL  59 

MACLAREN.  Borrowed  a  hairpin.  [Laughing]  Up 
to  yesterday  I  smoked  'em  till  they  burnt  my  fingers 
— now  I  can  smoke  till  they  burn  my  lips.  [He  inhales 
a  puff  luxuriously]  I've  got  exactly  four  cigarettes 
left. 

YEULLAT.  Hum  !  I'm  getting  near  my  last  pipe. 
[He  bends  forward,  leaning  his  elbows  on  his  knees, 
staring  at  the  map  and  whistling  windily  for  some 
moments.  Then  he  breaks  off  in  the  middle  of  a  bar. 
For  a  few  seconds  there  is  silence]  Mac. 

MACLAREN.  Yes. 

YEULLAT.  [Very  quietly,  still  staring  at  the  map]  Do 
you  know,  I'd  been  counting  on  the  relief  force  getting 
in  touch  with  us  not  later  than  last  night. 

MACLAREN.  Pretty  stiff  country,  you  know. 

YEULLAT.  Allowing  for  that. 

MACLAREN.  I  don't  think  a  day 

YEULLAT.  The  day's  over  and  there's  no  sign  of 
them. 

MACLAREN  goes  down  on  one  knee  and  looks  at 
the  map. 

MACLAREN.  Still,  if  the  Khams  show  fight,  there 
may  have  been  a  check  .  .  .  anywhere  between 
Langano  and  Domgit  Dzong. 

YEULLAT.  Yes,  that's  possible. 

MACLAREN.  If  there's  been  fighting  to-day 

YEULLAT.  We'd  have  heard  the  firing. 

MACLAREN.  {Looking  out  at  the  fluttering  prayer 
flags]  No.  The  wind's  east. 

YEULLAT.  [Looking  out]  That's  so. 

MACLAREN.  Been  east  the  last  two  days. 


60  THE   WHEEL  ACT  n 

YEULLAT.  They'd  be  able  to  signal  us  as  soon  as 
they  cross  Chando  La. 

MACLAREN.  Yes.  I  suppose  they're  bound  to  come 
that  way. 

YEULLAT.  Unless  they're  mad.  It's  as  plain  as 
a  pike-staff.  Send  them  up  the  Cooch  Behar  line. 
[Tracing  with  his  finger  on  the  map]  Detrain  Buxa 
road  station  .  .  .  metalled  road  to  Buxa.  Then  path 
from  Sinach  La,  cross  by  Wong  Chu  there.  Then 
come  up  the  Par  Chu  valley  by  Tashigong,  Paro,  and 
Langano.  It's  less  than  eighty  miles.  We  should  have 
heard  from  them  last  night  .  .  .  including  accidents. 

MACLAREN.  Suppose  they've  sent  'em  from  Dar- 
jeeling  ? 

YEULLAT.  It  would  take  them  ten  days  to  reach 
us — and  we  shouldn't  be  here  when  they  did. 

MACLAREN.  That's  an  Irish  bull. 

YEULLAT.  Yes,  but  it's  not  funny,  when  you 
remember  we've  barely  sixty  rounds  of  ammunition. 

MACLAREN.  [Staring  at  the  map]  I  wonder  now 
...  I  wonder  if  some  bally  idiot  who  thinks  he  knows, 
has  sent  them  from  Darjeeling. 

YEULLAT.  [Shaking  his  head]  No.  I  telegraphed 
from  Yatung  on  the  seventh  that  your  force  was  cut 
off  north  of  the  Par  Chu  valley,  that  I  was  leaving 
to  try  and  get  in  touch  with  you,  and  that  I'd  meet 
them  myself  or  send  word  down  the  valley  to  meet 
them.  It's  three  days  since  I  got  in  here ;  that's 
six  clear  days  since  they  had  the  news.  If  we  don't 
hear  from  'em  to-morrow — I  shall  be  wondering 
what's  happened. 


ACT  ii  THE   WHEEL  61 

MACLAREN.  You  don't  think 

YEULLAT.  [Quickly]  Of  course  I  don't  think. 

FARAKER  comes  on  from  the  corridor  on  the 
fight.     He   is    in   riding   kit,    but   looking 
rather  dilapidated  and  unlidy.    He  carries 
in  his  hand  a  small  aluminium  folding 
tumbler  containing  some  water. 
FARAKER.  [Seeing    them}  Ah !     [He    comes    over} 
Now,  tell  me,  can  we  be  certain  that  this  water  is 
safe  ? 

YEULLAT.  Where  did  you  get  it  ? 
FARAKER.  The  Havildar  gave  it  to  my  bearer. 
YEULLAT.  That's  the  well  water,  then— we're  all 
drinking  it. 

MACLAREN.  How's  your  wife  this  evening  ? 
FARAKER.  Oh,  better,  better— she's  had  a  sleep. 
[Looking   at  water}  But   that   proves   nothing.    I'm 
beginning  to  have  my  suspicions.     Can  we  trust  it, 
I  say  ?     Can  we  trust  that  well  ? 
YEULLAT.  Better  ask  the  Lama. 
FARAKER.  The  Lama — yes,  yes,  I  will.    [He  moves 
a  few  steps  towards  the  LAMA,  then  turns]  You  know, 
I  find  it  extremely  difficult  to  extract  information 
from  him  when  he's  in  that  condition.    At  times  he 
ignores  me — actually  ignores  me.      [He  goes  towards 
the  LAMA]  Ahem,  Lama  !    [The  LAMA  does  not  move] 
Ahem,  Lama !    [Loudly]. 

The  LAMA  remains  impassive.    After  a  pause 

FARAKER  goes  close  to  him. 

Might  I  ask  you  if,  in  your  view,  this  water,  the  well 
water,  is  safe,  quite  safe — not  dangerous  to  human 


62  THE  WHEEL  ACT  n 

life  ?    [He  holds  out  the  tumbler.    The  LAMA  is  motion- 
less.   A  pause], 

YEULLAT  and  MACLAREN  exchange  a  glance  of 
amusement. 

MACLAREN.  Why  not  boil  it  ? 

FARAKER.  [Coming  back  to  them]  I  have  boiled  it. 
But  you  know  there  are  certain  microbes 

MACLAREN.  [To  himself]  Yes,  I  know  there  are. 

YEULLAT.  Will  you  warn  the  memsahibs  to  keep 
away  from  the  openings  along  that  corridor  ? 

FARAKER.  Why  ? 

YEULLAT.  The  Khams  have  got  out  on  the  boulder 
beyond  the  precipice  over  there.  They  can't  fire  in 
on  us,  but  they  might  pick  off  anyone  who  leant  on 
the  parapet. 

FARAKER.  That's  a  nice  business.  Why  did  we 
let  'em  get  there  ?  Why  don't  we  do  something  .  .  . 
make  a  sortie  .  .  .  something  ? 

MACLAREN.  [Grinning]  We've  only  thirty-two  men, 
Faraker  .  .  .  can't  spare  'em.  But  of  course,  if 
you'd  like  to  make  a  little  sortie 

FARAKER.  That's  not  my  business.  But  in  my 
view  there's  no  enterprise.  We've  been  shut  up  here 
a  week  ...  a  whole  week  .  .  .  and  we  just  sit 
here.  To-day  we  haven't  fired  a  shot  .  .  .  since  they 
attacked  at  daybreak,  not  a  shot  .  .  .  not  a  shot. 

YEULLAT.  [Quietly,  folding  up  the  map]  No,  and  we 
shan't  fire  a  shot  before  we're  relieved  ...  I  hope. 

FARAKER.  Well,    I    say    that's    wrong  .  .  .  quite 

wrong.    In  my  view 

Three  distant  shots  ring  out — ping,  ping,  ping. 


ACT  ii  THE   WHEEL  63 

Listen  to  that !  Sniping  us  from  morning  to  night. 
Why  don't  \ve  stir  them  up  ...  let  them  know  we're 
here  .  .  .  keep  at  them  .  .  .  ? 

YEULLAT.  Look  here,  Faraker,  just  let  me  tell  you 
something.  It's  entirely  your  fault  that  we're  here  at 
all. 

FARAKER.  [Bristling]  Mine  ? 

YEULLAT.  You  got  special  government  permits  for 
this  tour  of  yours  in  Bhutan,  expressly  stating  you 
were  not  to  go  further  than  Chundi  Gompa.  As  a 
matter  of  fact,  just  now,  they'd  no  business  to  let  you 
come  at  all.  But  that's  their  fault.  What  do  you  do  ? 
In  spite  of  warnings,  you  come  thirty  miles  further 
north,  and  if  Maclaren  hadn't  chanced  to  hear  there 
was  a  touring  party  wandering  up  near  Sana,  you 
wouldn't  have  been  anywhere  by  now. 

FARAKER.  I  quite  admit  it  was  inadvisable 

YEULLAT.  Inadvisable  !  Do  you  realise  that  every 
village  north  of  Chundi  that  supplied  you  with  fodder 
will  get  into  trouble  ?  That  Maclaren  and  his  com- 
pany are  shut  up  here,  instead  of  being  safe  down  at 
Yatung  days  ago  ?  And  that  a  relief  force,  with 
guns,  has  to  be  rushed  up  to  get  you  out  of  this  mess  ? 
Considering  the  circumstances,  I  should  really  have 
thought  you  would  have  very  little  to  say. 

FARAKER.  Yes — but  my  point  is  this 

YEULLAT.  [Between  his  teeth]  Oh  !  shut  up — for 
God's  sake.  [He  turns  away,  then  says  quietly)  I  beg 
your  pardon,  Faraker.  But — either  go  to  bed — or 
mind  your  own  business.  I'm  fed  up  with  this. 

MRS  FARAKER  enters  from  the  passage  Right 


64  THE   WHEEL  ACT  n 

front,  leaning  on  RUTH'S  arm.    Both  women 
are  in  riding  habits,  travel  stained,  and  their 
hair  is  loosely  and  carelessly  done.    MRS 
FARAKER,  who  wears  a  big  woollen  overcoat, 
shows   signs   of   the  strain   they   are  going 
through,  but  RUTH  appears  serene  and  happy. 
MRS  F.  Is  there  any — any  news  ? 
YEULLAT.  To-morrow — we   shall   hear   to-morrow, 
Mrs  Faraker. 

MRS  F.  To-morrow — it  was  to-morrow  yesterday. 
YEULLAT.  [With  a  laugh]  Well,  to-morrow  it  will 
be  to-day — I  promise  you.     I  was  too  sanguine  ;  the 
relief  force  couldn't  possibly  get  in  touch  with  us 
before  to-morrow. 

FARAKER.  In  the  meantime  the  Khams  are  sniping 
us  from  this  side  now — and  it  seems  we  are  to  do 
nothing. 

He  takes  out  a  clinical  thermometer,  shakes  it, 

and  puts  it  in  his  mouth. 

YEULLAT.  You're  perfectly  safe  here.  Just  keep  out 
of  that  corridor — at  least,  as  long  as  there's  day- 
light. 

MACLAREN.  You  may  do  anything  except  look  at 
the  view. 

MRS  F.  [Sitting  on  the  divan,  Left]  It  feels  cold  here. 
[Shivering  a  little.] 

RUTH.  I'll  get  you  my  shawl — you  mustn't  get  a 
chill. 

She  goes  into  the  room  Left. 
YEULLAT.  But  you're  better  to-night  ? 
MRS  F.  Oh,  I'm  well  now.    It  was  only  a  touch  of 


ACT  ii  THE   WHEEL  65 

fever.    I've  had  quinine  and  sleep.    I  shall  be  on  the 
effective  strength  of  the  garrison  to-morrow. 

YEULLAT.  [Cheerily]  To-morrow  —  that's  right ! 
Everything  will  be  right — to-morrow. 

He  goes  out  Right. 

MRS  F.  I  feel  so  well  I  should  just  love  a  cigarette, 
and  there  isn't  one. 

MACLAREN.  Cigarette — why,  of  course — I've  got 
some.  [Takes  his  case  from  his  pocket  and  opens  it]. 

MRS  F.  No,  no,  I  couldn't  think  of  it :  you've  only 
four. 

MACLAREN.  Any  amount  more  in  a  box  down  below. 

MRS  F.  On  your  honour  ? 

MACLAREN.  Honest  Injun ! 

RUTHS  returns  with  a  light  shawl. 

MRS  F.  [Taking  one]  You're  a  most  deserving  person. 

RUTH.  [Wrapping  the  shawl  round  MRS  FARAKER'S 
shoulders]  Smoking  !  You  must  be  feeling  strong. 

MRS  F.  Thanks,  dear.  [She  lights  her  cigarette  from 
a  match  held  by  MACLAREN]  Thanks ;  you've  saved 
my  life  for  the  second  time.  George  !  What  on  earth 
are  you  taking  your  temperature  for  ? 

FARAKER.  [Waving  his  hand]  Um  !  um  !  um  !  um  ! 

MRS  F.  Good  heavens  !  I  hope  he's  not  going  to 
have  fever. 

The  LAMA,  who  has  risen  a  moment  before, 
comes  to  FARAKER,  who  is  standing  near 
the  passage  on  the  right  front. 

LAMA.  The  sahib  would  know  if  the  water  of  the 
well  be  good.    It  is  good.    Two  hundred  years  men 
here  have  drunk  it ;   it  is  not  known  that  any  found 
£ 


66  THE   WHEEL  ACT  IT 

ill  therein.  For  many  years,  when  the  illusion  of  thirst 
has  been  upon  me,  this  water  has  banished  it.  The 
water  is  good. 

He  goes  out  slowly  Right,  clicking  his  rosary. 

MACLAREN.  He's  a  rum  old  chap. 

FARAKER.  [Taking  the  thermometer  from  his  mouth] 
Humph  !    I  don't  believe  he  knows  anything  about  it. 
He  goes  to  the  shrine  and  examines  the  ther- 
mometer in  the  light  of  one  of  the  little  lamps. 

MRS  F.  It's  almost  uncanny  the  way  the  Lama 
and  that  young  novice  go  on  with  their  praying  and 
bell  ringing,  as  if — as  if — well,  as  if  we  mightn't  all  be 
sent  to  kingdom  come  at  any  minute. 

MACLAREN.  There's  no  danger  of  that,  Mrs  Faraker. 

MRS  F.  Isn't  there  ? 

FARAKER.  [Staring  at  the  thermometer]  I'm  normal. 

RUTH.  You  sound  disappointed,  George. 

FARAKER.  No,  no,  no,  but  I  was  convinced  I  had 
a  temperature.  I  meant  to  take  quinine  .  .  .  now  I 
can't.  [He  chucks  the  water  on  the  floor  and  comes  over 
to  them]  You  know,  I'm  not  sure  I  trust  the  Lama.  He 
appears  a  very  cultured  person,  but  I  believe  he's  sly,  sly. 

MACLAREN.  He's  streets  above  any  Lama  I've  come 
across. 

RUTH.  He's  as  simple  as  a  child. 

FARAKER.  Well,  I  can't  get  information  out  of  him 
...  he  evades  me  when  I  question  him  about  the 
monks  and  their  habits 

MRS  F.  Dislikes  being  interviewed,  probably. 

FARAKER.  Then  about  his  journey  to  England  .  .  . 
couldn't  get  a  straight  answer. 


ACT  ii  THE   WHEEL  67 

RUTH.  He  told  me  about  that.  I've  talked  with 
him  often.  Some  twenty  years  ago,  he  went  to 
Ceylon — just  think  of  it,  travelling  on  foot  the  whole 
way  through  India ;  he  spent  several  years  studying 
Pali  in  a  monastery  there.  Then,  an  English  Colonel 
.  .  .  Richardson,  I  think  his  name  was  .  .  .  who  was 
a  Buddhist,  became  great  friends  with  him,  and  per- 
suaded him  to  come  to  England.  He  was  nearly  two 
years  there. 

MRS  F.  What  did  he  think  of  England  ? 

RUTH.  He's  too  polite  to  say.  [Smiling]  But  I 
gather  he  thinks  it  hopeless  .  .  .  sunk  in  illusion. 

FARAKER.  Tsch  !    tsch  !   tsch  !    What  nonsense ! 

MRS  F.  [Holding  out  her  cigarette,  half  smoked]  I 
can't  finish  it — throw  it  away  for  me,  please.  I'm 
afraid  I'm  not  as  strong  as  I  thought. 

MACLAREN.  [Taking  the  cigarette]  It'll  be  a  day  or 
two  before  you're  quite  fit.  Stick  to  the  quinine, 
Mrs  Faraker. 

He  goes  to  the  entrance,  but  instead  of  throwing 
the  cigarette  away,  he  puts  it  out  and  then 
quietly,  with  his  back  to  them,  puts  it  in  his 
case. 

FARAKER.  Most  annoying  .  .  .  you  know  I've 
lost  all  the  notes  I  took  at  the  other  monasteries. 
They  were  in  the  baggage  we  lost  in  the  rush  up 
here. 

MRS  F.  [Shutting  her  eyes]  Oh,  that  dreadful  night 
.  .  .  don't  talk  about  it,  please. 

FARAKER.  No,  dear,  I'm  talking  of  the  notes  .  .  . 
my  notes. 


68  THE  WHEEL  ACT  n 

Two  of  three  distant  shots  ring  out,  then  half 
a  dozen  close  together,  then  ten  or  twelve 
more.  MRS  FARAKER  starts,  then  holds 
her  fingers  to  her  ears.  MACLAREN  goes  to 
the  side  of  the  opening  and  peers  out.  The 
other  two  listen  intently. 

MRS  F.  [Half  laughing,  half  hysterically]  Oh,  I  do 
wish  they  wouldn't  do  that. 

FARAKER.  [Looking  worried,  to  himself]  I  know  I 
was  right  ...  I  know  I  was  right. 

RUTH.  [Rising  quietly  and  going  to  the  entrance]  Is 
it  anything  .  .  .  what  ? 

MACLAREN.  [Comes  down,  shaking  his  head]  It's  all 
right.    They  always  have  a  final  blaze  about  sunset 
— just  to  show  they're  still  there  ...  it  amuses  them. 
I   must   be   getting    down    now.    Good-night,    Mrs 
Faraker,  if  I  don't  see  you  again. 
MRS  F.  Good-night. 
RUTH.  Good-night. 

He  goes  out  Right. 
The  light  from  outside  is  now  the  deep  red 

afterglow  of  sunset. 

MRS  F.  [After  a  pause]  I  hope  they're  not  going  to 
shoot  any  more.  It's  horrible  ...  I  keep  listening 
for  it. 

RUTH.  [Sitting  beside  her  and  putting  an  arm  round 
her]  You  mustn't  let  yourself  worry,  dear,  everything 
will  come  right  .  .  .  it's  sure  to. 

A  little  Bhutia  COOLIE  BOY  comes  on  Right  front 
carrying  on  his  back  two  thick  bamboos  as 
long  as  himself,  fastened  together  and  full 


ACT  ii  THE  WHEEL  69 

of  water,  and  balanced  by  a  strap  across 
his  forehead.    He  is  followed  by  DAVID 
Faraker's  bearer,  a  Christian  native,  who 
is  carrying  a  tumbler  on  the  lid  of  a  biscuit 
tin. 

DAVID.  [Driving  the  COOLIE]  Ai.    Yai,  yai !    Hai ! 
RUTH.  Here's  my  bath  water.     Isn't  he  a  funny 
little  fellow  ? 

The  BOY  crosses  into  the  room  Left,  touching 

his  forehead  with  his  hands. 
What  have  you  got  there,  David  ? 

DAVID.  Very    nice    tea    for    memsahib — tip-top. 
Piping  hot. 

MRS  FARAKER  takes  a  sip,  then  makes  a  face. 
MRS  F.  No ;  I  can't  get  used  to  the  brick  tea. 
RUTH.  Do  try  ...  it's  most  sustaining. 
FARAKER.  [Who   is  seated   on   the  Lama's  divan, 
making  notes]  Capital  stuff  .  .  .  meat  and  drink. 

MRS  F.  [After  another  sip]  Tastes  exactly  like  dirt. 
[Puts  it  on  tray]  Take  it  away. 
RUTH.  I  like  your  silver  salver,  Louise. 
MRS  F.  A  very  clever  idea,  David. 
DAVID.  I    think    it.     [Holding    up    the   lid]  Only 
imitations,  only  beastly  biscuit  box. 

He  crosses  Right  and  goes  out.    A  gust  of  wind 
sweeps  down  the  corridor,  making  the  lamp 
flame  flutter.    MRS  FARAKER  rises. 
MRS  F.  George,  I  think  I'll  go  back  to  my  room. 
It's  too  cold  here. 

FARAKER.  [Coming  down}  Very  well,  dear,  very  well. 
MRS  F.  [To  RUTH]  Good-night,  dear. 


70  THE  WHEEL  ACT  n 

RUTH.  [Kissing  her]  Good-night.  I  should  go  to 
bed  and  try  and  get  a  long  sleep. 

MRS  FARAKER  nods,  smiling,  then  taking  her 
husband's  arm,  they  go  off  Right,  front. 
RUTH  sits  on  the  divan  and  resumes  the 
mending  of  her  skirt.  The  COOLIE  BOY 
with  the  bamboos  comes  out  of  the  room  Left. 
RUTH.  Kai  hai,  little  boy. 

She  takes  a  lump  of  sugar  from  her  pocket  and 
*     gives  it  to  him.    The  BOY  salaams,  pops  it 
into  his  mouth  and  holds  out  his  hand  for 
more. 

[Laughing]  No,  no  more  to-night,  half  rations.    Bus 
jao. 

The  BOY  salaams  and  scuttles  off  Right.    RUTH 
resumes  her  mending.    YEULLAT  comes  on 
Right,  in  the  corridor.    He  stops  a  moment 
at  the  opening,  looking  out,  then  is  about  to 
go  off  Left.    RUTH  sits  bending  forward, 
listening  to  the  footsteps. 
RUTH.  Is  that  you  .  .  .  Tim  ? 
YEULLAT.  Yes.    [He  comes  to   the  entrance]  What 
are  you  doing  ? 

RUTH.  Keeping  my  rags  together.    Do  you  ever 
get  any  rest  ? 
YEULLAT.  Rest  ? 

RUTH.  You  wander  in  here  at  moments,  then  you're 
gone.  In  the  three  days  since  you  came  I  haven't 
seen  you  sit  down  once. 

YEULLAT.  [Smiling]  I  got  four  solid  hours  last 
night.  [Sits  on  the  saddle]. 


ACT  ii  THE  WHEEL  71 

RUTH.  I  lay  awake  all  night  .  .  .  listening. 

YEULLAT.  To  what  ? 

RUTH.  The  wind  .  .  .  and  sounds  I  imagined. 
Do  you  think  there'll  be  an  attack  to-night  ?  [Break- 
ing the  thread,  puts  away  the  needle], 

YEULLAT.  [Shaking  his  head]  Dawn's  more  likely 
...  or  a  fog.  They  got  more  than  they  bargained 
for  this  morning.  Thank  God  the  moon  will  be 
full. 

RUTH.  I  don't  like  the  firing  in  the  dark.  Tim 
.  .  .  what  made  you  attempt  a  mad  thing  like  coming 
in  here  to  join  us  ? 

YEULLAT.  It  wasn't  mad.  Just  a  dash  .  .  .  with 
luck. 

RUTH.  With  twelve  men.  "  Suicide  that  didn't 
come  off,"  Mr  Maclaren  called  it. 

YEULLAT.  That's  nonsense.  We  just  crept  through 
the  nullah  in  the  dark,  got  past  them  and  climbed  the 
rock  on  the  east. 

RUTH.  [Shutting  her  eyes]  It  makes  me  giddy  even 
to  look  down  it. 

YEULLAT.  They  didn't  fire  a  shot  till  we  were 
almost  in.  Then  they  couldn't  see  to  hit  us.  I  wish 
we'd  an  earthly  chance  of  getting  out  as  easily. 

RUTH.  It  was  the  firing  wakened  me.  .  .  .  When  I 
heard  the  Gurkhas  cheering  ...  I  thought  it  was  the 
relief. 

YEULLAT.  I  wish  it  had  been. 

RUTH.  I  was  glad  it  was  you.  It's  a  strange  way 
to  meet  again,  isn't  it  ?  [Pause]  Tim.  did  you  know 
I  was  here  ? 


72  THE  WHEEL  ACT  n 

YEULLAT.  I  heard  there  were  two  memsahibs  with 
Faraker.  ...  I  guessed. 

RUTH.  You — you've  tried  to  avoid  me  ...  since 
you  came. 

YEULLAT.  [Gravely,  after  a  pause]  Why  do  you  say 
that,  memsahib  ? 

RUTH.  I  don't  know.  I've  wanted  to  hear  how 
you've  been  these  two  years. 

YEULLAT.  Pretty  busy.  I've  turned  into  a  real  hill- 
man,  almost.  I  think  I  know  the  frontier  from  Lhobrak 
to  Chomolhari,  and  along  as  far  as  Nasia  .  .  .  well, 
better  than  most  white  men.  It's  not  bad  work,  if 
you  like  a  hard  life.  What  have  you  been  doing  with 
yourself,  memsahib  ? 

RUTH.  Oh,  getting  along.  ...  I  made  the  Farakers 
do  a  tour  in  Sikhim  last  hot  weather.  We  just  missed 
you  at  Lhachung. 

YEULLAT.  [Nodding]  I  heard,  afterwards.  I  hear 
from  Tubbs  sometimes.  Everything  still  the  same 
down  at  Jagpur  ? 

RUTH.  Just  the  same.  [A  pause], 

YEULLAT.  You  know  Faraker  deserves  to  be  strung 
up  for  bringing  you  beyond  Chundi.  I  practically  told 
him  so. 

RUTH.  Did  you  ?  [She  rises,  and  stands  looking  at  the 
back]. 

YEULLAT.  Ignorance  is  no  excuse.  It  has  cost 
money,  trouble,  life,  and  we're  not  out  of  it  yet. 

RUTH.  I — I'm  afraid  it's  my  fault,  really.  Everyone 
was  against  going  on.  He  was  wavering  .  .  .  and  I 
persuaded  him. 


ACT  ii  THE   WHEEL  73 

YEULLAT.  You  .  .  .  you  didn't  realise 

RUTH.  I  never  thought  of  anything  .  .  .  anyone 

...  I  wanted  to  go  on  ...  [Intensely]  Just  to  go  on. 

She  moves  quietly  forward  and  stands  leaning 

with  her  hands  on  the  parapet. 
YEULLAT.  The  Government  can  thank  themselves 
for  giving  him  permits.  We've  known  for  months 
trouble  was  coming.  At  least,  we  knew  on  the 
frontier.  But  of  course,  Simla  .  .  .  far-off  fields  are 
green,  but  they're  nothing  to  far-off  officials.  I  sent 

in  three  reports  myself 

With  a  crash  the  upper  portion  of  the  earthen- 
ware vessel  on  the  parapet  is  shattered  to 
pieces,  as  by  a  blow.  RUTH  starts  slightly, 
but  does  not  leave  the  ledge.  YEULLAT 
springs  to  his  feet  and  turns. 

YEULLAT.  Ruth  !    For  God's  sake,  come  away  from 
there  !    [He  seizes  her  by  the  wrist,  dragging  her  to 
the  opening  of  the  room.    Staring  at  her]  You're  not 
hurt? 
RUTH.  [Shaking  her  head]  No. 

After  a  moment  he  releases  her  wrist. 
What  was  it — a  bullet  ? 

YEULLAT.  Yes.  You  gave  them  a  mark — that 
white  thing — [pointing  to  her  bodice]  in  the  light.  [He 
turns  away  abruptly]. 

RUTH.  [Watching  him]  Would  it  have  mattered  ? 
YEULLAT.  Don't  talk  like  that,  memsahib  [Sitting 
on  the  divan]. 

RUTH.  No  ?  [Looking  at  the  fragments  of  the  jar} 
An  empty  earthen  vessel  .  .  .  just  a  second  .  .  .  and 


74  THE   WHEEL  ACT  n 

all  questions  answered.  How  easy  !  [Coining  down, 
she  half  kneels  on  the  saddle,  speaking  quickly]  Tim,  do 
you  know  why  I  have  come  up  here  ?  .  .  .  It's  to  get 
away  .  .  .  from  myself.  You  say  life's  hard  here.  I 
need  that,  I  need  it  .  .  .  it's  the  only  thing  to  save 
me  ;  hardship  .  .  .  struggle  .  .  .  risk :  riding  along 
the  little  slippery  bridle  paths,  with  the  pony's  foot 
slipping  on  the  edge,  and  the  precipice  below  .  .  . 
fight !  Just  to  think  that  in  a  minute,  in  a  second,  I 
might  be  dead,  and  wonder  how  that  would  be 
different.  That's  peace  .  .  .  the  edge  of  something 
infinite. 

YEULLAT.  Yes  ...  I  know. 

RUTH.  That  night  .  .  .  you  said  we  mustn't  think. 
Tim,  I  tried  .  .  .  but  .  .  .  down  there  at  home,  it's 
no  use.  Everything  seems  so  little  now — a  crowd 
chattering  and  worrying  about  little  things.  Voices 
far  off  ...  I  don't  seem  near  anyone,  as  if  there  was 
a  deep  chasm  between  us  ...  or  I  was  sunk  in  it 
.  .  .  and  alone.  [She  goes  a  little  way  towards  the 
entrance,  looking  out].  But  here,  all  that  seems  to  fall 
away.  The  great,  gaunt  hills,  the  snows,  and  the 
cleansing  winds  that  seem  to  sweep  through  one,  till  all 
the  littleness  is  gone  .  .  .  and  one  is  alone  .  .  .  alone 
.  .  .  but  oh  !  it's  a  better  loneliness.  [Pause]  I  feel, 
almost  .  .  .  that  if  I  could  pray,  it  might  be  heard 
.  .  .  here.  [A  slight  pause]. 

YEULLAT.  Why — why  not  pray  ? 

RUTH.  [Shaking  her  head  slowly]  I  wasn't  brought 
up  ...  that  way.  [A  slight  pause]. 

YEULLAT.  I  \va  . 


ACT  ii  THE  WHEEL  75 

RUTH.  Tim,  are  you  going  to  spend  your  whole  life 
here  ?  [She  sits  on  the  saddle]. 

YEULLAT.  If  they'll  let  me  ...  the  best  of  it. 

RUTH.  When  I  came  to  the  hills  last  year,  I  had  a 
wild  hope  that  somehow,  somewhere,  I  should  see  you. 
This  time  I  meant  to  see  you.  That's  why  I  made 
them  go  on.  I  suppose  that  was  wicked  .  .  .  but  I 
had  to  go  on.  I  shall  come  again,  next  year  .  .  .  and 
every  year  ...  it  will  be  my  pilgrimage.  And  even 
if  I  don't  see  you  .  .  .  you  will  be  near.  There  will 
be  only  mountains  between  us  ...  and  they  won't 
matter. 

YEULLAT.  Is  that  going  to  make  it  easier,  mem- 


RUTH.  Yes  ...  for  me.  Something  to  drag  me 
through  the  rest  of  the  year.  I  musn't  grumble  .  .  . 
but  if  you  knew  what  it's  like,  Tim  .  .  .  sometimes 
when  I  have  a  very  bad  time,  I  write  you  .  .  .  long 
letters.  But  I  never  send  them.  .  .  .  And  all  the  time 
Jack  never  dreams,  he's  kind  and  gentle  .  .  .  and  I 
think  that's  the  worst.  [She  sits  with  her  hands  clenched 
and  her  head  hung.  He  rises  and  comes  and  stands 
above,  without  speaking.  After  a  moment  she  looks  up.] 
How  long  is  it  going  to  be  like  this  ? 

YEULLAT.  Ruth,  things  have  been  made  hard  for  us 
somehow.  I  don't  know  why  ...  I  don't  pretend  to 
understand.  But  we've  got  to  go  on  ...  we've  got  to 
do  the  right  thing,  and  in  time  ...  it  will  be  better. 

RUTH.  Yes.  I  say  that  to  myself,  it  will  be  better 
.  .  .  some  day. 

The  GURKHA  HAVILDAR  enters  and  salutes. 


76  THE  WHEEL  ACT  n 

YEULLAT.  Kya  hai  ? 

HAVILDAR.  Huzoor,  chey  admee  choice  pooroo  tangi 
see  attay   hin,  bundook   choroon  ya  unko  nuzdeek 
anideyna. 
YEULLAT.  Main  au-unga. 

The  HAVILDAR  goes  out.    YEULLAT  turns  to  RUTH. 
I  must  go.    If  you  hear  firing,  it's  nothing — a  few 
Khams  trying  to  find  a  way  up  on  the  east.    Don't  be 
alarmed. 
RUTH.  No. 

YEULLAT.  And   .    .    .   don't  imagine  things   .   .    . 
to-night  will  be  quiet. 
RUTH.  I'll  try.    Good-night,  Tim. 
YEULLAT.  Good-night,  memsahib. 

He  goes  out  Right. 

RUTH  remains  sitting  on  the  saddle,  staring 
before  her.  The  last  sunset  rays  have 
disappeared  and  been  follmved  by  dusk, 
which  changes  gradually  to  moonlight.  The 
LAMA  conies  on  from  Right  lower  entrance. 
He  carries  a  small  vessel  and  a  hand/ill  of 
wild  flowers,  and  murmuring  to  himself 
over  and  over  again  in  a  low,  monotonous 
drawl  "  Om  mane  padme  hum,"  goes  to  the 
altar  before  the  Buddha,  stands  for  some 
moments  with  bent  head,  then  strews  the 
flmvers  at  the  foot  of  the  image.  RUTH 
looks  n/),  watching  him,  then  after  a  little 
comes  quietly  to  the  right  of  the  entrance, 
and  leaning  against  the  pillar,  watches 
him  intently.  The  LAMA  fills  a  couple  of 


ACT  ii  THE  WHEEL  77 

ike  lamps,  which  Jiave  gone  out,  'with  butter 
from  the  vessel  he  carries  and  lights  them 
from  another  lamp.    Then  he  takes  some 
grains  of  incense  from  a  copper  vessel  and 
sprinkles  them  on  the  centre  lamp. 
LAMA.  Sarva  d'armen  paritjugja  mamckam  saranam 
vraga.   .   .  .    [The  rest  is  inaudible]. 

A  long  column  of  incense  smoke  rises  in  front 
of  the  Buddha.  The  LAMA  bends,  laying 
his  forehead  on  the  altar  ledge,  and  remains 
motionless  for  some  seconds.  Then  he  turns 
and  goes  slowly  towards  the  exit  Left,  clicking 
his  beads.  RUTH  watches  him  pass  her, 
then  speaks. 
RUTH.  Where  did  the  flowers  come  from  ? 

The  LAMA  turns  and  looks  up  very  slowly,  like 

one  coming  back  from  distant  thoughts. 
LAMA.  A  cleft  in  the  rock,  near  the  gateway — it  is 
full  of  these  little  flame-bundles. 

RUTH.  I  thought  nothing  grew  on  this  rock.  .  .  . 
Did  you  make  the  garden  ? 

LAMA.  [Smiling,  and  shaking  his  head]  The  wheel 

goes  on.    Nothing  is  barren — at  the  appointed  hour 

the  rock  brings  forth.  [He  nods  several  times]  Yes  .  .  . 

yes  .   .   .   the  soil  was  borne  by  the  years,  and  the 

south  winds  carried  the  seeds,  and  when  the  sun  and 

the  rains  had  been  gentle,  lo  !  even  in  the  dark  hour, 

there  is  a  garland  for  Amitabha — for  "  The  Boundless 

Light."    [He  bows  towards  the  altar]. 

RUTH.  Why  did  the  monks  leave  you  alone  here  ? 

LAMA.  I  am  not  alone.    There  is  my  Getsul— he 


78  THE   WHEEL  ACT  n 

whom  I  teach.    [Nodding]  A  diligent  seeker  after  truth, 
earnest,  he  follows  the  Way. 
RUTH.  Where  have  the  other  monks  gone  ? 
LAMA.  The  illusion  of  fear  made  them  blind.    They 
fled.  ...  To  Tashi-Gompa  some  .  .  .  others,  I  know 
not.    Fear  .  .  .  care  for  the  worthless  body  !    They 
took  with  them  all  the  food  !    I  and  my  Getsul  must 
eat  the  sahibs'  bread ;   but  indeed  the  sahibs  heap 

up  virtue  thereby 

The  report  of  a  rifle  interrupts  him.  It  is  loud 
and  near,  being  fired  from  the  lower  storey. 
RUTH  goes  up  a  little  way  and  stands, 
strained  and  listening. 

A  pause,  then  three  more  shots  in  quick  suc- 
cession from  below.  A  moment's  pause, 
followed  by  a  regular  fusillade  of  distant 
shots  from  the  enemy.  Then  silence,  only 
broken  by  the  clicking  of  the  LAMA'S  beads. 
RUTH  comes  down  and  sits  on  the  pony 
saddle. 

The  madness  of  killing  !  They  will  be  born  again  ! 
Again  and  again  !  They  are  binding  themselves  to 
the  wheel  .  .  .  fast  .  .  .  fast  ...  to  the  nethermost 
part  of  the  wheel. 

The  wind  rises  moaning,  making  the  lamp  flame 

flicker. 
RUTH.  That  is  the  wheel  .  .  .  there  ? 

She  points  to  the  great  painting  of  the  wheel 

on  the  back  wall  to  the  left  of  the  lamp. 
LAMA.  [Nodding  slowly]  The  Wheel  of  Existence 
,   .  .  that   is  the  wheel.    [He  comes  up  below  the 


ACT  ii  THE   WHEEL  79 

lamp  and  stands  pointing  up]  Above  the  heavens  .  .  • 
there  the  celestial  ones  .  .  .  mankind  here  .  .  . 
beneath  the  realm  of  ghosts  .  .  .  that  way  the 
animals  .  .  .  and  below  all  the  hells,  eight  hells  of 
fire,  eight  hells  of  ice  and  snow.  [He  waves  his  arm 
slowly  in  a  circle  and  his  voice  fills  as  though  inspired] 
All  therein  is  illusion  ...  we  are  born  in  it,  and 
re-born,  birth  after  birth,  ascending  and  descending, 
chained  to  illusion,  bound  .  .  .  bound  .  .  .  [His 
voice  falls  slowly]  .  .  .  till  desire  be  dead  in  us  .  .  . 
till  we  be  free  .  .  .  free  from  the  wheel. 

RUTH.  [To  herself]    Till  desire  be  dead  !    [Then  to 
the  LAMA]  Then  the  wheel  is  suffering  ? 

The  lamp  flame  flutters  in  the  wind. 
LAMA.  The  wheel  is  life,  and  life  is  suffering. 
Because  of  ignorance,  because  of  illusion,  because  we 
cheat  ourselves  with  the  shadow  of  what  seems.  We 
must  follow  the  Middle  Way,  the  path  of  the  most 
excellent  Law.  Then,  in  this  stream  of  change  that  is 
the  world,  the  Blessings  come : 

Not  to  serve  the  foolish,  but  the  wise. 

To  honour  the  worthy  of  honour. 

Right  desires  in  the  heart,  right  thoughts  in  the 
mind. 

To  give  alms,  to  help  kindred,  to  do  no  hurt  to 
anything  that  lives. 

Not  to  be  weary  in  well-doing. 

To  cease  from  sin. 

You  must  cut  off  self-love,  even  as  an  autumn  lotus 
with  the  hand. 
RUTH.  [After  a  pause]  Is  love  illusion  ? 


80  THE  WHEEL  ACT  n 

LAMA.  The  last  .  .  .  the  last  illusion. 

RUTH.  [Rising,  speaking  in  a  low,  tense  voice]  It 
isn't  true  ...  it  isn't  true.  Love  is  real  .  .  .  all 
the  rest  may  be  illusion.  Life  .  .  .  death  .  .  . 
suffering :  when  love  comes,  what  do  they  matter  ? 
Everything  in  the  world  may  fall  away  from  you,  but 
love  stays  .  .  .  love  stays. 

LAMA.  [Going  towards  the  opening  at  the  back]  Look, 
sahiba  !  [He  points  up  to  the  sky]. 

RUTH  comes  over  and  stands  beside  him,  looking 

up. 

Do  you  see  the  face  of  the  hare  .  .  .  the  hare  in  the 
moon  ? 

RUTH.  It  is  a  man  .  .  .  the  man  in  the  moon. 

LAMA.  [Shaking  his  head]  No  ...  no  ...  it  is 
the  hare.  Once  in  a  former  birth,  the  Buddha  was 
born  in  the  shape  of  a  hare.  And  one  day,  seeing  in 
a  wood  a  poor  hungry  man  sitting  by  a  fire  of  brambles, 
this  hare  was  sorrowful,  saying  :  "  The  man  is  hungry; 
he  cannot  eat  my  food,  which  is  grass.  I  have  nothing 
to  give  him,  nothing  but  myself."  And  he  leaped 
on  the  flames  that  the  man  might  eat  of  his  body. 
Then  the  god  Kalpa,  seeing  this,  split  open  a  mountain, 
and  taking  the  sap  thereof,  painted  on  the  moon  the 
face  of  the  hare,  to  be  a  sign  for  ever  *  .  .  of  love 
where  self  is  not. 

She  looks  at  him  for  a  moment,  then  smiling 
gently,  she  shakes  her  head  and  turns  away. 

RUTH.  You  do  not  understand. 

She  comes  slowly  and  sits  on  the  divan. 

LAMA.  [To  himself,  staring  at  the  moon]  A  man  ! 


ACT  ii  THE   WHEEL  81 

[He  shakes  his .  head]  There  be  the  staring  eyes  .  .  . 
the  little  round  mouth  ...  the  long  teeth  likewise. 
No,  no  ...  it  is  obviously  a  hai'e. 

A  strong  gust  of  wind  blows  the  lamp  -flame 

sideways,  making  it  flutter  and  grow  dim. 
[Staring  at  the  lamp]  Life  is  a  lamp  flame  in  the  wind. 
The  world's  winds  trouble  it.  It  is  blown  out  and 
re-lighted,  and  again,  and  again,  till  the  food  of  the 
flame,  till  desire  be  burnt  away.  None  may  re-light 
it  then  .  .  .  the  flame  is  gone  .  .  .  Nirvana  .  .  . 
eternal  stillness  .  .  .  peace.  [He  stands  motionless, 
staring  before  him,  lapsing  into  reverie}. 

RUTH.  [To  herself]  Peace  ! 

FARAKER  comes  on  Right.  He  is  half  dressed. 
He  looks  at  the  LAMA,  then  crosses  over  to 
RUTH. 

FARAKER.  Louise  keeps  worrying  to  know  what 
that  firing  was  .  .  .  won't  try  to  sleep.  ...  I  said 
I'd  try  and  find  out 

RUTH.  There's  no  danger.  Some  of  the  Khams 
were  trying  to  scale  the  path  on  the  east.  Captain 
Yeullat  was  here  ...  he  told  me  ...  we're  not  to 
worry. 

FARAKER.  That's  what  I  kept  saying  .  .  .  what  I 
kept  saying  .  .  .  but  she  will  imagine  things. 

RUTH.  She's  run  down  .  .  .  and  then  the  strain 

FARAKER.  Yes,  yes.    Of  course. 

RUTH.  [Rising]  Shall  I  go  to  her  ? 

FARAKER.  No,  no,  no.  I'll  tell  her.  She'll  be  all 
right.  It's  just  nerves  .  .  .  nerves. 

RUTH.  I'm  wondering  how  long  my  nerves  will  last, 
F 


82  THE   WHEEL  ACT  n 

I  think  I'll  try  and  get  some  sleep  now.  Captain 
Yeullat  says  there  may  be  firing — another  attack — 
about  dawn. 

FARAKER.  Beastly — beastly  !  Well,  I  hope  you'll 
sleep. 

RUTH.  [Going  to  door  Left]  Thanks,  and  tell  Louise 
things  are  all  right.    Good  night. 
FARAKER.  Yes,  yes.    Good  night. 

RUTH  goes  out  and  doses  the  door. 

FARAKER  turns  and  looks  at  the  LAMA  for  a 

moment. 
Er  .  .  .  Lama. 

The  LAMA  does  not  move.    FARAKER  goes  up 

to  him. 
Er  .  .  .  Lama. 

LAMA.  [In  the  far-away  voice  of  one  coming  out  of  a 
dream]  The  water  is  good  ...  it  is  good. 

FARAKER.  Yes,  yes,  quite  so,  quite  so.  [Taking 
note-book  and  pencil  from  his  pocket]  Now,  tell  me  ... 
there  was  one  little  point  I  forgot  to  put  to  you 
yesterday.  With  regard  to  the  vow  of  celibacy  .  .  . 
do  you  find — among  the  younger  monks,  of  course 
— that  there  are  ...  er  ...  occasions  when  this 
vow  is  ...  er  ...  when  there  are  lapses  in  that 
direction  ? 

LAMA.  [After  a  pause]  Sahib,  thus  it  was  said  by 
the  Blessed  One  :  "  The  wise  man  seeketh  not  the 
sin  in  others,  but  in  himself." 

He  goes  slowly  to  the  low  divan  in  the  corner, 
where  he  sits  and  becomes  lost  in  contempla- 
tion. FARAKER  watches  him,  then  going 


ACT  IT  THE   WHEEL  83 

to  the  lamp,  begins  turning  over  the  pages 
of  his  note-book.  YEULLAT  comes  from  the 
corridor. 

FARAKER.  [Looking  up]  Oh,  Ycullat  .  .  .  that 
firing  just  now — nothing  serious  ...  eh  ? 

YEULLAT.  [Quietly]  No  ...  not  this  time.  Some 
of  them  trying  to  get  up  the  cliff  .  .  .  that  lot  won't 
trouble  us  again,  anyway. 

The  GETSUL  comes  on  hurriedly.  He  glances 
at  the  ENGLISHMEN,  then  goes  to  the  LAMA, 
speaking  in  low,  excited  tones.  YEULLAT 
and  FARAKER  stand  watching.  They  speak 
rapidly  in  the  Bhutani  dialect. 
GETSUL.  Guroola  Shik — ya  Dhik — yo. 

The  LAMA  looks  up. 
LAMA.  Kara  yo  ?    [He  rises]. 

They  continue  talking  almost  inaudibly. 
FARAKER.  What   are   they    saying  .  .  .  what   are 
they  talking  about  ? 

YEULLAT.  I  don't  know.  I  don't  understand 
Bhutani.  {Watching  them]  Something  must  have  hap- 
pened .  .  .  they  don't  get  excited,  as  a  rule 

FARAKER.  [Turning  away]  Now,  tell  me,  in  your 
view  .  .  .  we've  a  right  to  know  the  facts,  we  ought 
to  face  them  .  .  .  what  is  the  truth  about  our 
situation  ? 

YEULLAT.  [After  a  pause,  still  watching]  We  can 
hold  out,  till  we're  relieved. 

FARAKER.  Till  we're  relieved.     Do  you  mean 

MACLAREN  comes  on  quickly  Right.    Outside, 
the  voices  and  footsteps  of  a  number  of  men 


84  THE   WHEEL  ACT  n 

following   him   down   the   corridor   can   be 
heard.    A  few  moments  later  the  GELONG, 
a  sturdy  monk,  less  Mongolian  in  type  and 
about  thirty  years  of  age,  is  brought  on  by 
a    couple    of    Gurkhas,    preceded    by    the 
HAVILDAR  and  NATIVE  OFFICER. 
MACLAREN.    [As   he    enters]   Yeullat  .  .  .  Yeullat, 
there's  a  monk  just  come  in  ;  I  believe  he  must  be  one 
of  the  fellows  who  ran  away.    He  hailed  the  sentries 
from  the  platform  ;  we  might  have  shot  him,  only  the 
young  one  was  down  there,  and  began  to  jabber  and 
make  signs  that  he  knew  him.    We  can't  make  out  a 
word  he  says  .  .  .  it's  this  mongrel  Tibetan. 
YEULLAT.  The  Lama  '11  be  able  to  tell  us. 
MACLAREN.  Yes,  they  seem  pretty  excited  about 
something. 

GELONG.  [Crying  out]  Tsering  Lama,  cha-pe  nang- 
chung. 

LAMA.  Lap-gyu  ka-re  yo  ? 
"  GELONG.  Chi-ling  mami  ki  sang-gyu  chik  yo. 

YEULLAT.  Tsering  lama,  who  is  this  man  ...  is 
he  one  of  your  monks  ? 

LAMA.  He  is  a  monk  of  this  monastery,  sahib ;  he 
is  called  Tundup  Shedar.  He  has  walked  from  Domgit 
Dzong,  a  long  way.  He  says  he  brings  news  of  the 
army  of  the  sahibs. 

YEULLAT.  The  relief  force,  yes  .  .  .  what  does  he 
say  ? 

LAMA.  Ma-di  ka-tu  chung  ? 

GELONG.  Te-ring  sho-ke  chung.  Chi-ling  ma-mi 
pam-ne  che-ka  po  chim-pare. 


ACT  IT  THE   WHEEL  85 

RUTH  appears  at  the  door  Left,  wrapped  in  a 
light  kimono,  with  her  long  hair  loosely 
knotted  up.  She  stands  listening,  unseen 
by  FARAKER,  MACLAREN  and  YEULLAT, 
who  have  their  backs  to  her.  When  the 
GELONG  finishes,  the  LAMA  looks  at 
YEULLAT,  then  back  again  at  the  GELONG, 
in  silence. 
YEULLAT.  Well  ? 

LAMA.  Sahib,  it  is  bad  news  that  he  bears. 
YEULLAT.  What  does  he  say  ? 
LAMA.  He  says  to-day,  before  dawn,  a  great  fight 
was  fought  between  the  Khams  and  the  army  of  the 
sahibs.    He  says  the  sahibs  lost  many  men,  many, 
more  than  half  the  army.    He  says  that  those  that 
remain  living  are  gone  back. 

A  pause  ;  for  a  moment  no  one  moves.    Then 

MACLAREN  bends  forward  to  YEULLAT. 
MACLAREN.  [Very  quietly]  This  may  be  bluff  .  .  . 

they've  sent  him  in,  perhaps 

YEULLAT.  [Nodding]  Yes,  it's  an  old  trick. 
FARAKER.    [Touching    YEULLAT'S    arm]    Do    you 

think 

YEULLAT.  Wait !  [To  the  LAMA]  How  long  have 
you  known  this  monk  ?  Can  you  vouch  for  his 
word  ? 

LAMA.  I  have  known  him  ten  years.  I  have  not 
known  him  speak  the  thing  that  is  not.  He  is  a  man 
of  good  will. 

A  slight  pause. 
YEULLAT.  Did  he  see  the  fighting  ? 


86  THE  WHEEL  ACT  n 

LAMA.  Sahib,  he  says  so. 

YEULLAT.  What  was  he  doing  there  ? 

LAMA.  He  was  brought  by  a  shepherd  to  a  chief  of 
the  Khams,  who  is  sick. 

YEULLAT.  There  were  guns  with  the  sahibs,  big 
guns.  .  .  .  Can  he  tell  what  became  of  them  ? 

LAMA.  Cha-ling-la  me-kyo  yo-wa-re,  te-le-ka-re 
chung  ? 

GELONG.  Nga  gyu  mo. 

LAMA.  He  does  not  know. 

MACLAREN.  [Quietly]  We  shall  know  .  .  .  later  on. 

YEULLAT.  Where  .  .  .  where  was  the  fighting  ? 
Can  he  tell  us  the  place  .  .  .  the  exact  place  ? 

LAMA.  Ma-di  ka-pa  chung  ? 

GELONG.  Par-chu  dram-la,  trang  yo-sa-la  ma  gyap- 
song. 

LAMA.  In  the  valley  of  the  Par  Chu,  above  Langano. 
In  the  narrow  part  where  the  road  runs  close  by  the 
river.  [A  pause. 

MACLAREN.  You  know  the  place  .  .  .  road  between 
cliff  and  the  river  ? 

YEULLAT.  [Nodding]  Right  bank  covered  with 
rhododendron,  at  the  foot  of  steep  hill.  I  know  it. 

MACLAREN.  They  never  went  in  there,  without 
thorough  scouting. 

YEULLAT.  [After  a  pause]  Ask  him  where  the  Khams 
were  posted  in  the  fight  ? 

LAMA.  Ma-yo-tu  Kham-pa  te  ka-pa  yo  ? 

GELONG.  Chu-dram-la  ta-ma-shing-ki  shing-na  kyi- 
la  sang-ne  de-pa-re. 

A  pause.    MACLAREN  and  YEULLAT  look  at 


ACT  ii  THE   WHEEL  87 

each  other  in  silence.    FARAKER  looks  from 
one  to  the  other  anxiously. 

FARAKER.  [In  a  low  tone]  Er  .  .  .  in  your  view 
.  .  .  what  do  you  make  of  it  ? 

YEULLAT.  Tsering  lama,  how  has  this  monk  come 
through  the  enemy  ?  What  reason  had  he  to  bring 
us  this  news  ? 

LAMA.  He  has  told  me,  sahib,  already.  He  prayed 
the  chief,  whom  he  healed,  that  I  and  my  Getsul 
might  be  saved.  If  we  pass  out  with  him  they  will 
not  harm  us. 

YEULLAT.  [After  a  pause]  Do  you  wish  to  go 
out? 

LAMA.  [Smiling,  and  shaking  his  head]  Sahib,  I  have 
seen  many  lands  and  great  seas,  and  over  all  illusion, 
blinding  the  soul.  I  am  old  ...  I  will  stay  .  .  . 
till  perhaps  I  be  freed  from  the  wheel. 

YEULLAT.  [After  a  pause]  The  monk  must  remain 
here  for  the  present.  To-morrow  we  will  see.  [To  the 
soldiers]  Gelong  ko  gompa  se  mut  janey  doe  .  .  . 
ruksut  hi. 

The  HAVILDAR,  OFFICER,  and  TROOPERS  go 

out  Right  with  the  GELONG. 
RUTH  goes  noiselessly  into  her  room,  leaving  the 

door  ajar. 

Tsering  lama,  thank  you  for  interpreting  .  .  .  this 
news. 

The  LAMA  inclines  his  head  and  goes  slowly  out 
Left,  clicking  his  beads. 

A  pause. 
MACLAREN.  What  do  you  think  ?    Think  it's  true  ? 


88  THE   WHEEL  ACT  n 

YEULLAT.  [After  a  pause]  Do  you  ? 

He  begins  to  walk  slowly  Right,  looking  at  the 
ground.  FARAKER  watches  first  one,  then 
the  other. 

FARAKER.  If  it  is  ...  of  course  .  .  .  tell  me,  what 
will  it  mean  exactly  ? 

YEULLAT.  [Turning]  Look  here,  Faraker,  we're  in  a 
tight  place,  there's  no  good  pretending  we're  not.  We 
don't  know  yet  if  it's  true  ...  we  don't  know  what'll 
happen.  There's  only  one  thing  ...  the  women 
mustn't  know.  Do  you  understand  ?  For  God's 
sake,  not  a  syllable  to  your  wife  ...  or  Mrs  Dangan 
.  .  .  anyway,  not  yet. 

FARAKER.  Yes  .  .  .  I  understand  .  .  .  quite,  quite. 

A  pause. 

Of  course,  if  the  worst  comes  to  the  worst,  we  can 
try   and    cut    our   way   through    .    .    .    isn't    that 
so    .    .    .  ?   [Then  turning  to  MACLAREN]    Isn't  that 
so  ? 
YEULLAT.  [Late]  Yes  .  .  .  yes,  yes,  of  course. 

DAVID  enters  Right,  front. 

DAVID.  The  memsahib  call  me.  She  is  ve-ry 
anxious.  Will  the  sahib  be  so  ve-ry  kind  and  come 
to  her  ? 

FARAKER.  [Starting  up]  Oh,  yes  .  .  .  tell  the  mem- 
sahib  I'm  coming. 

DAVID  goes  out.    FARAKER  crosses  Right  in 

dazed  way. 

Yes  .  .  .  yes  ...  I  must  go  to  my  wife  ...  I  must 
go  to  my  wife.  [He  turns]  Yeullat,  I  think  I  ... 
I  caused  you  some  annoyance  a  little  while  ago  .  .  . 


ACT  ii  THE   WHEEL  89 

I  possibly  appeared  interfering,  and  so  ...  I  should 
like  to  apologise. 

YEULLAT.  My  dear  Faraker,  that's  all  right.  ...  I 
understand. 

FARAKER.  Thank  you.  Yes  .  .  .  yes  ...  I  must 
go  to  my  wife. 

He  goes   out  Right.    MACLAREN  sits  on  the 
saddle,  leaning  his  chin  on  his  fists  and  staring 
hard  at  the  floor. 
YEULLAT  stands  looking  after  FARAKER.    For 

a  moment,  silence. 

MACLAREN.  This  means  ...  all  U.P.  .  .  .  what  ? 
[Pause]. 

YEULLAT.  We've  only  got  a  half  ration  .  .  .  and 
something  less  than  two  rounds  per  man.  I  should 
think  ...  by  to-morrow  night  .  .  .  it'll  be  all  over. 
[Pause]. 

MACLAREN.  The    women  ...  if   only    we   hadn't 
the  women  ...  we  could  go  out  for  it  ...  a  thunder- 
ing fight,  and  finish  it  that  way. 
YEULLAT.  There's  no  going  out  .  .  .  now. 

He  turns  away  and  stands  looking  out  at  the 

back. 

MACLAREN.  Suppose  that  fellow  was  lying  .  .  . 
but  why  should  he  be  ? 

YEULLAT.  No  ...  the  rhododendron  thicket  .  .  . 
along  the  river. 

MACLAREN.  [Nodding]  I  know. 
YEULLAT.  When  he  said  that  ...  I  could  see  it 
happening.    The  old  story  .  .  .  bad  scouting. 
MACLAREN.  Went  over  the  hills  .     .  and  left  the 


90  THE   WHEEL  ACT  n 

rest   to    Providence  ...  ha !     Providence.    [Pause] 

Poor  devils  !  I  wonder  what  regiment 

YEULLAT.  Doesn't  sound  like  Gurkhas. 
MACLAREN.  My   God,   no  !    [He   takes   a   cigarette 
from  his  case]  It's  a  funny  thing  .  .  .  I'm  going  home 
in   September  .  .  .  been  saving  up  for  five  years. 
[He  strikes  a  match,  lights  his  cigarette  and  blows  out 
a  cloud  of  smoke]  Needn't  save  these,  anyway.    [He 
rises]  I'd  better  get  down  and  see  to  the  sentries.    I 
wonder  what  they  think  .  .  .  [pointing  out  Right], 
YEULLAT.  They  know. 

MACLAREN.  Um  !  They  can  smell  news  like  this. 
Better  try  and  get  a  sleep  before  you  relieve  me. 

YEULLAT.  Sleep  !  [He  turns  with  a  faint  smile] 
My  dear  Mac,  I  should  think  we'll  get  all  the  sleep  we 
want  .  .  .  presently. 

MACLAREN.  [Nodding]  Yes  .  .  .  that's  about  the 
size  of  it. 

He  goes  out  Right. 

YEULLAT  goes  to  the  parapet,  and  leaning 
against  the  side  of  the  opening,  stares  out 
at  the  night.  A  moment  afterwards  RUTH 
comes  softly  from  her  room.  She  steals  over 
to  the  lamp  and  stands  watching  him  in 
silence.  Then  she  calls  softly. 
RUTH.  Tim. 

YEULLAT  turns  and  comes  down. 
YEULLAT.  Why  aren't  you  asleep  ? 
RUTH.  Tim,  what's  going  to  happen  to  us  ?    I  want 
to  know  ...  I  want  to  know. 
YEULLAT.  [Quickly]  What  do  you  mean  ? 


ACT  ii  THE   WHEEL  91 

RUTH.  I  was  there  ...  at  the  door  ...  I  heard. 

YEULLAT.  It  isn't  true,  memsahib  .  .  .  we  can't 
know  yet 

RUTH.  When  George  went  .  .  .  you  were  speaking 
the  whole  truth  then  ..."  to-morrow  night  it  will 
be  over." 

YEULLAT.  I  was  wrong;  there's  hope  .  .  .  there's 
always  hope. 

RUTH.  Tim,  I  know,  and  I'm  not  afraid.  .  .  .  This 
is  the  end  ...  the  end  of  everything  ?  [He  is 
silent.  She  goes  nearer  to  him]  You  want  to  fight,  to 
go  on  hoping,  because  you're  a  man  .  .  .  you're 
brave.  There's  neither  hope  nor  fight  in  me.  I'm 
just  waiting 

YEULLAT.  Memsahib,  I  ...  I  ...  [Clenching  his 
teeth]  If  there  were  something  to  be  done  !  But  to 
think  of  you  here,  in  this  awful  ...  to  be  trapped 
...  to  know  I  can  do  nothing  .  .  .  nothing  but 
wait  .  .  .  wait. 

He  sinks  on  the  right  of  the  divan,  his  hands 
clenched  and  his  head  bent.  RUTH  comes 
and  stands  beside  him. 

RUTH.  If  you  were  here  alone,  and  by  any  miracle 
I  could  get  here,  I  would  come.  If  I  could  go  away 
alone,  if  any  miracle  could  save  me,  I  would  stay.  .  .  . 
Tim,  I'm  not  afraid  of  death.  .  .  .  I'm  afraid  of 
nothing  in  the  world,  but  losing  you. 

YEULLAT.  [Looking  up  at  her]  Ruth  ! 

RUTH.  [Sitting  beside  him]  Yes,  all  the  time  you 
were  away,  I  would  have  been  glad  of  death,  only 
for  one  thing  .  .  .  leaving  you  behind.  Tim,  in  those 


92  THE   WHEEL  ACT  n 

two  years  .  .  .  you  can  tell  me  now  .  .  .  how  often 
did  you  think  of  me  ...  how  long  did  you  miss  me  ? 

YEULLAT.  You  were  never  out  of  my  thoughts  ; 
there  wasn't  a  day  when  I  didn't  long  for  you. 

RUTH.  You  wouldn't  tell  me  when  I  asked  you, 
before.  But  I  knew.  When  two  people  love  as  we 
do,  words  don't  matter.  Some  kind  of  light  tells  us 
everything.  If  darkness  came  to  either,  we  should 
know  .  .  .  without  a  word. 

YEULLAT.  I  could  feel  all  the  time  that  you  loved 
me. 

RUTH.  And  I  knew  that  you  longed  for  me.  Often, 
at  home,  when  I  could  be  alone,  I  used  to  sit  for  hours 
with  my  eyes  shut,  and  the  longing  in  you  would  sweep 
over  me  .  .  .  out  of  the  distance  .  .  .  like  waves 
...  till  I  was  carried  away  .  .  .  away  ...  as  the 
body  of  a  drowned  one  is  swayed  in  the  sea.  Going 
away  couldn't  change  things,  could  it,  Tim  ? 

YEULLAT.  No. 

The  lamp  flame  bends  and  flutters  in  the  wind 
that  sweeps  down  the  corridor  with  low, 
long-drawn  sound.  RUTH  sits  watching 
the  flame  till  it  burns  straight  again. 

RUTH.  Tim. 

YEULLAT.  Yes. 

RUTH.  Tell  me  ...  what  will  it  be  like  ? 

YEULLAT.  What  ? 

RUTH.  The  end. 

YEULLAT.  Don't  .  .  .  don't  ask  that. 

RUTH.  Why  not  ?  We're  not  afraid  of  death, 
we're  not  like  living  people  .  .  .  they  won't  think  of 


ACT  ii  THE   WHEEL  93 

it  because  they  don't  know  the  hour  .  .  .  it's  a  terror 
hidden  in  the  dark.  But  we've  passed  that.  We 
know.  It's  there  .  .  .  out  there  .  .  .  waiting.  It 
may  come  at  dawn,  or  in  the  day,  or  at  evening  .  .  . 
but  to-morrow  .  .  .  to-morrow  .  .  .  it's  close  .  .  . 
so  close  that  we — we  could  touch  it.  Tim  ...  I 
want  to  know  .  .  .  how  will  it  be  ...  in  a  fight,  it 
will  come  in  a  fight  ? 

YEULLAT.  Yes. 

RUTH.  Where  ? 

YEULLAT.  Below. 

RUTH.  By  the  gates  ? 

YEULLAT.  Yes  .  .  .  they'll  rush  us  ...  from  the 
platform 

RUTH.  A  long  fight? 

YEULLAT.  [Shakes  his  head]  We  may  stop  the  first 
rush  .  .  .  but  when  the  last  shot 

RUTH.  Yes  ? 

YEULLAT.  They'll  come  again  .  .  .  all  over  us  .  .  . 

bayonet  work  .  .  .  scrimmage  .  .  .  all 

[He  stops. 

RUTH.  I  shall  be  there  .  .  .  near  .  .  .  near  you 
...  as  near  as  you'll  let  me  come.  [A  pause]. 

YEULLAT.  Ruth  .  .  .  when  it  comes  .  .  .  you 
know  .  .  .  [He  touches  the  revolver  case  on  his  belt] 
This  is  for  you. 

RUTH.  I  know   .   .   .  and  for  her  ?  [With  a  gesture], 

YEULLAT.  Faraker's  got  one.  .  .  .  I'll  tell  him  .  .  . 
when  it's  time. 

RUTH.  [Holding  out  her  hand}  Give  it  to  me  ... 
for  a  second  ...  so  that  it  mayn't  seem  strange. 


94  THE   WHEEL  ACT  n 

He  takes  out  the  revolver  and  puts  it  in  her  hand. 
RUTH.  [Staring  at  it]  It's  loaded  ?    [He  nods}. 

She  raises  her  hand  and  holds  the  muzzle  -pressed 

against  her  temple. 
YEULLAT.  Don't ! 

RUTH.  It  won't  hurt  .  .  .  just  the  touch  of  a 
cold  finger  that  means  .  .  .  now. 

He  bends  her  arm  down,  then  takes  the  pistol 

from  her  and  puts  it  back  in  the  case. 
RUTH.  It  doesn't  frighten  me,  Tim  .  .  .  it's  a  good 
end.  .  .  .  No  hope  ...  no  thought  of  living  .  .  . 
only  a  wild  fight  for  death.  [Rising]  I  shall  be  quite 
near  .  .  .  behind  you  .  .  .  close  .  .  .  waiting.  I 
know  how  it  will  be  ...  quick  .  .  .  quick  .  .  . 
a  crowd,  a  sea  of  killing,  rage,  madness,  blood  .  .  . 
blood  .  .  .  and  you'll  fall  into  my  arms  .  .  .  into 
my  arms.  Then  a  second  ...  we  shall  be  one  .  .  . 
in  the  end  we  shall  be  one.  [Clasping  her  hands]  Oh  ! 
.  .  .  it's  a  good  end  ...  a  good  end. 

She  goes  up  to  the  centre  opening  and  stands 
looking  out  over  the  hills.    Again  the  wind 
moans  and  the  lamp  flame  flutters. 
RUTH.  Tim,  isn't  it  strange  ?    I  can  hardly  feel  the 
ground  under  my  feet. 

YEULLAT  rises  and  comes  over  to  her. 
YEULLAT.  Go  and  lie  down,  dear.    You'll  need  your 
strength. 

RUTH.  [Shaking  her  head]  No.  Look  at  the  moon. 
[Pause]  To-morrow  night  .  .  .  where  shall  we  be  ? 
[A  pause]  You  called  me  "  dear  "  then  .  .  .  did  you 
know? 


ACT  ii  THE   WHEEL  95 

YEULLAT.  I  always  call  you  that  ...  to  myself. 
She    turns    towards    him,    touching    his    arm 
lightly,  and  stands  staring  at  the  image  of 
the  Buddha. 

RUTH.  What  a  little  thing  life  is.  That  Buddha 
was  there  before  we  were  born  ...  it  will  be  there 
when  we're  gone. 

He  turns  and  looks  at  the  image  for  a  moment 

in  silence. 

YEULLAT.  It  will  go  ...  some  day. 
RUTH.  Yes  ;  only  the  still  smile  of  it  seems  eternal. 
Like  love.  Life  goes,  but  not  the  smile  on  its  lips. 
[She  comes  down  a  little]  To-morrow  ...  I  feel  as  if 
to-morrow  had  taken  us  both  .  .  .  already.  Every- 
thing seems  miles,  years  away  .  .  .  illusion  .  .  . 
everything  but  love.  [Suddenly  turning  to  him]  Tim, 
tell  me  you  love  me  .  .  .  say  it !  [Putting  out  her 
hands]  I  want  to  hear  ...  I  want  to  hear. 

YEULLAT.  [Taking  her  hands]  I  love  you,  I  love 
you.  .  .  .  Oh,  my  dear  ...  my  dear !  .  .  . 
RUTH.  I  love  you. 

Her   body    sways    blindly    towards    him.    He 
kisses  her  passionately  on  the  lips,   then 
letting  go  her  hands,  folds  his  arms  round  her. 
RUTH.  [With  her  head  on  his  breast]  There's  nothing 
to  come  between  us  now   .   .   .   people  and  things, 
the  world  that  kept  us  apart  .  .  .  they're  gone  .  .  , 
all  the  illusions.    This  is  our  own  world. 
YEULLAT.  I  love  you  ...  I  love  you  .  .  . 
RUTH.  A  little  world  ...  all  ...  all  our  own. 
She  nestles  closer  to  him,  closing  her  eyes.    The 


96  THE   WHEEL  ACT  n 

lamp  flame  flutters  in  the  wind.  The  cry 
of  a  night  bird  is  heard  below  among  the 
rocks,  "  Kiou  .  .  .  kiou,"  two  mournful 
calls,  with  a  short  interval.  RUTH  starts 
slightly,  staring  in  front  of  her. 
RUTH.  Tim,  what  was  that  ? 

He  listens.    Again  the  "kiou  .   .   .  kiou"  is 

heard  a  little  further  off. 
YEULLAT.  It's  a  kind  of  little  grey  owl. 

She  moves  a  little  way  from  him,  listening. 

RUTH.  It  sounded  like  someone  calling  .  .  .  [Again 

the  "  kiou  .  .  .  kiou  "  is  heard,  but  far  away]  calling  us 

away.    Where  ?    To  what  ?     [She  shivers  and  sinks 

on  the  left  corner  of  the  divan]  Kiss  me. 

He  kneels  beside  her  with  one  knee  on  the  divan, 

and  taking  her  in  his  arms,  kisses  her. 
YEULLAT.  I  love  you.    I  love  your  mouth  and  your 
eyes  and  all  you  .  .  .  body  and  soul. 

RUTH.  Kiss  my  eyes  .  .  .  [He  kisses  her  eyes]  and 
my  hair.  [She  throws  back  her  head,  and  her  loosely 
bound  hair  falls  about  her.  He  takes  a  cluster  in  his 
hand].  [Passionately]  My  hair  will  cover  you.  I 
will  spread  all  of  it  over  your  face,  at  the  last,  and  go 
out  with  you. 

A  fierce  gust  of  wind  makes  the  lamp  splutter 
and  almost  go  out.  With  a  sudden  cry  she 
rises. 

No  !  ...  I  want  life.  .   .  .  We  can't  die  !    I  want 
to  live,  to  love  you  ...  to  love  you.     [Turning,  she 
holds  out  her  arms  to  him], 
YEULLAT.  [Passionately]  Ruth  ! 


ACT  ii  THE   WHEEL  97 

RUTH.  [In  his  arms,  wildly]  Stay  with  me    ... 
what  does  anything  matter  now  ?    This  is  our  world 
...  all  that  is  left  of  it,  and  I'm  yours  ...  all  ... 
all  ...  for  I  love  you  ...  I  love  you.  .  .  . 
YEULLAT.  I  love  you  ! 

Locked  in  each  other's  arms  their  lips  meet. 
The  lamp  flame  is  whirled  in  a  wild  gust 
of  wind,  then  suddenly  blown  out.  In  the 
darkness 

The  CURTAIN  falls. 


ACT  III 


THIRD  ACT 

SCENE  :  The  same.  Dawn  is  just  beginning  to  break — 
the  swift  dawn  of  the  Himalayas.  The  darkness 
turns  grey,  then  changes  rapidly  to  violet,  outlining 
the  distant  hills.  The  GETSUL  enters  Left  from  the 
corridor,  sleepily  swinging  his  prayer  wheel.  He 
goes  to  the  altar,  trims  several  of  the  lamps,  and 
re-lights  a  couple  which  have  gone  out.  As  he  turns 
he  sees  that  the  big  lamp  Left  is  out,  takes  a  light 
from  the  altar  and  re-lights  it.  Then  he  goes  off 
through  the  corridor,  Right.  A  moment  or  two  later 
the  GELONG  crosses  from  Left  to  Right  in  the 
corridor,  murmuring  the  "  Om  mane  padme  hum" 
on  his  rosary.  Another  slight  interval  and  the 
LAMA  follows  in  the  same  direction.  An  interval 
of  silence.  The  dawn  is  gaining,  the  violet  changing 
to  green,  and  later  on  to  pink.  Suddenly  a  wild 
yell  (the  Gurkha  war-cry)  is  heard  from  above 
outside.  It  is  the  sentry  on  the  roof  calling  out. 
VOICE.  [From  above]  Huzoor !  Huzoor !  [Pause 
Huzoor ! 

A  slight  pause,  then  a  voice  from  the  corridor 

off  Right  answers. 
VOICE.  [Below]  Kya  hooah  ? 
VOICE.  [Above]  Maclaren  Sahib,  Ko  juldee  balao. 
A  moment  later  a  GURKHA  RIFLEMAN  runs 

101 


102  THE   WHEEL  ACT  in 

across  from  Right  to  Left.     Then  in  a  few 
moments  he  returns  with  MACLAREN,  who  is 
buckling  on  his  belt,  etc.    MACLAREN  leans 
over  the  parapet  and  calls  up. 
MACLAREN.  Oother  kya  hooah  ? 
VOICE.  Huzoor,   deccan  ke  turuf   takree    per   ek 
bowtee  main  dek  sukta  hoon,  bow  tee  per  teen  koney 
hain. 

MACLAREN  stands  looking  out  for  a  moment,  then 
pulls  out  his  field-glasses  and  looks  through 
them. 

MACLAREN.  [After  a  pause]  Main  nahin  dek  sukta : 
Kahan  hai  ? 

VOICE.  [Above]  Teesera  koney  ke  puchum  tcruf. 
[A  pause]. 

MACLAREN.  [Suddenly]  My  God,  yes  !  [He  stares 
intently  through  the  glasses  for  an  instant,  then  shouts 
wildly]  Yeullat !  Yeullat !  Yeullat !  [To  the  GURKHA 
Dowro,  huzoor  ko  balao  ? 

The  GURKHA  runs  off  Right.     Then  he  is  heard 
shouting,  and  voices  answer  him  from  below. 
He  shouts  down  again,  and  again  the  answer- 
ing  shouts    are   heard   from    below,   in    a 
gradually  increasing  hubbub  of  excitement. 
MACLAREN  stands  looking  through  his  glasses. 
MACLAREN.  [Shouting  off  Right]  Yeullat !  Yeullat, 
man  !    The    relief !    The    relief's    in    sight  !    Their 
advanced  guard  is  flag-wagging  about  two  miles  awav. 

YEULLAT  hurries  on  Right. 

YEULLAT.  Where  is  it  ?  [Taking  out  his  field-glasses] 
How  can  you  see  in  this  light  ? 


ACT  in  THE   WHEEL  103 

MACLAREN.  Yes,  yes  ...  over  there  !  [Pointing] 
That  hill  with  the  three  humps,  near  the  river.  Four 
fingers  west  of  the  end  hump. 

YEULLAT.  Yes,  I  see  it  ...  I  see  it  now.  Thank 
God,  that's  all  right  .  .  .  that's  all  right. 

MACLAREN.  [Laughing  excitedly]  All  right !    I  shall 
do  a  Highland  fling  in  a  minute. 
YEULLAT.  Quick,  get  your  signallers  up  to  the  roof. 
MACLAREN.  [Shouting  off  Right]  Signal  wallah  ko 
bolo  !    Gompa  ke  ooper  jao. 

VOICE  [Repeating  off]  Signal  wallah  ko  bolo  !  Gompa 
ke  ooper  jao. 

Voices  are  heard  shouting  the  order  down  below. 
YEULLAT.  You'd    better    take    it    down;  they're 
repeating. 

MACLAREN   takes   out  note  book   and  pencil. 

YEULLAT    reads    the    signals    through    his 

glasses,  repeating  them  aloud.     MACLAREN 

repeats  them  after  him,  writing  them  down. 

Repeating.    That's  all. 

MACLAREN.  [Reading    jrom    book]  "  Are    you    all 

right  ?    Relief  force  five  hundred  infantry,  mountain 

battery,  Stapleton  command.    Help  locate  enemy." 

YEULLAT.  Signal  them  "  All  well.    Believe  enemy 

retired  during  night ;  probably  going  north." 

MACLAREN.  [Looking  up  quickly]  Retired  !  How  do 
you  know  that  ? 

YEULLAT.  I  sent  out  scouts  an  hour  ago.  They 
got  as  far  as  the  east  wood  without  drawing  fire. 

Four  GURKHAS  have  come  on  Right,  one  carry- 
ing signalling  flags,  another  a  heliograph. 


104  THE   WHEEL  ACT  in 

MACLAREN.  [To  the  men]  Ke  ooper  jao. 

They  salute  and  go  off  Left  quickly. 
MACLAREN.  By  Jove  !    Looks  as  if  we're  not  even 
going  to  get  a  fight  out  of  this.     [As  he  is  going]  I  say, 
old  man,  bit  of  a  change  from  last  night.    What  ? 

YEULLAT.  [Putting  up  his  field-glasses]  Yes  .  .  . 
it's  a  change. 

MACLAREN  laughs  and  turns  off  Left.    YEULLAT 
stands  for  a  moment  quite  still,  then  goes 
to  RUTH'S  door  Left. 
[Calling]  Ruth  !  .  .  .  Ruth  !  [He  moves  away]. 

RUTH  comes  quickly  from  the  room. 
RUTH.  I'm  ready,  Tim  .  .  .  I'm  ready  ! 
YEULLAT.  Ruth    dear,   it's    the    relief    force  .  .  . 
they're  signalling  a  few  miles  off. 

RUTH.  [Staring  at  him  ^vildly]  What  do  you  mean  ? 
.  .  .  They've  attacked  .  .  .  you've  come  for  me,  you 
said  you'd  come.  .  .  .  I'm  ready,  Tim. 

YEULLAT.  [Taking  her  hands]  Dear,  dear,  no  ! 
Our  people  are  coming  up  the  valley  .  .  .  it's  the 
relief. 

She  draws  away  from  him,  pressing  her  hands 

to  her  forehead. 

RUTH.  There  was  a  cry  ...  horrible  ...  it  woke 
me  .  .  .  then  shouting.  I  ...  I  ...  [For  a  moment 
she  stands  motionless,  staring  in  front  of  her.  She  hides 
her  face  in  her  hands]. 

YEULLAT.  Ruth,  don't  .  .  .  dear,  dear,  don't  cry. 
RUTH.  [Shaking  her  head  and  looking  up]  I  just 
don't  seem  to  have  strength  for  this.  ...  I  can't 
see  .     .1  can't  see  ! 


ACT  m  THE   WHEEL  105 

YEULLAT.  We  must  think  ...  we  must  think 
what's  to  be  done. 

RUTH.  It  was  all  settled  .  .  .  now  there's  nothing. 
When  I  awoke  then,  it  was  dark.  ...  I  was  trembling ; 
but  I  wasn't  afraid.  ...  I  just  wanted  you  ...  to 
take  your  hand,  and  go  out  with  you  .  .  .  [Clinging 
to  him]  Tim,  I'm  afraid  now.  .  .  .  I'm  afraid  of  life. 
Is  there  nowhere  in  the  world  where  we  can  get  away 
from  all  ? 

YEULLAT.  Yes  ...  we   must  go  ...  somewhere. 
We  can't  go  on  as  we  were  .  .  .  not  now. 
RUTH.  You  love  me  ...  tell  me  you  love  me. 
YEULLAT.  You  know  I  love  you.  [He  kisses  her]. 
RUTH.  I    want   you  .  .  .  nothing    but   you.    We 
belong  to  each  other  .  .  .  we've  suffered  for  it  ... 
we've  a  right  to  it. 

The  GURKHAS  are  heard  cheering  wildly  down 
below.     "Shaba!  Shaba!  Shabaaa!"    The 
light  outside  has  been  growing  fast.    It  is 
now  dose  to  sunrise. 
[Starting]  What's  that  ? 
YEULLAT.  [Turning]  They've  seen  the  signals. 
RUTH.  It's  like  fate  .  .  .  rushing  on  us  ...  the 
old  life  .  .  .  rushing,  rushing  so  that  we  can't  think. 
[Quietly,  after  a  slight  pause]  I  suppose  we  should  be 
glad  ...  for  the  others. 

She  stretches  out  her  hand  to  silence  him  and 

stands  bent  forward,  listening.     A  moment 

later  FARAKER  comes  quickly  on  Right  front. 

FARAKER.  [Excitedly]  My  bearer's  just  told  me  ... 

the  relief's  in  sight.    Is  it  true,  Yeullat ;  is  it  true  ? 


106  THE   WHEEL  ACT  m 

YEULLAT.  Yes,  it's  true,  Faraker. 

FARAKER.  Oh,  thank  God,  thank  God  !  I  told  my 
wife — she's  just  getting  up — though  I  was  almost 
afraid  to  believe  it.  [Rubbing  his  hands]  But  that's 
all  right  .  .  .  that's  all  right. 

YEULLAT.  We're  signalling  the  advanced  guard  now. 
I  don't  think  you'll  have  any  more  righting  round 
here.  The  enemy  have  moved  off  in  the  night. 

FARAKER.  You  don't  say  so :  splendid  .  .  .  splen- 
did. [Cheerfully]  Well,  this  is  the  end  of  all  our 
troubles,  eh,  Ruth,  eh  ?  [He  goes  into  the  corridor  and 
looks  out]. 

RUTH.  The  end  .  .  .  yes. 

FARAKER.  We  ought  to  be  very  thankful,  very 
thankful.  I'm  thankful,  and  I'm  sure  we  all  are. 

The  sun  has  risen  above  the  mountains. 
Several  blasts  on  the  brazen  trumpet  are 
heard,  then  the  big  bell  of  the  monastery 
begins  to  toll.  On  one  of  the  nearer  hills 
the  flashing  of  a  heliograph  can  be  seen. 

FARAKER.  Yes,  yes  !  And  the  Lamas  offering  prayer 
to  their  gods,  whoever  they  may  be  ...  very  proper, 
very  touching  !  [To  YEULLAT]  Strange  how  a  common 
danger 

YEULLAT.  The  Lamas'  prayer  is  for  sunrise.  I'm 
afraid  we  don't  come  into  it. 

FARAKER.  Oh !  ...  Do  you  know,  Yeullat,  I 
wasn't  really  taken  in  by  the  news  that  fellow  brought 
last  night. 

YEULLAT.  Weren't  you  ? 

FARAKER.  No,  no  ;   no,  no  !    Of  course  I  sa\v  you 


ACT  in  THE   WHEEL  107 

all  thought  it  serious.    But  at  the  back  of  my  head, 
all  the  time  I  had  an  idea  :  "  This  fellow's  lying." 

YEULLAT.  He  wasn't  lying.  He  probably  saw  some 
fighting,  and  exaggerated  it. 

FARAKER.  No,  no ;  he  was  lying.  I  sized  him  up 
...  I  saw  it  ...  I  saw  it. 

YEULLAT.  You  didn't  say  so. 

FARAKER.  Not  at  the  time.  I  saw  it,  later  on, 
when  I  was  in  bed.  [Looking  out  at  the  back]  What's 
that  ?  That's  a  heliograph  working  there,  isn't 
it? 

YEULLAT.  [Looking  out]  That'll  be  the  main  guard. 
They're  closer  up  than  I  thought. 

FARAKER.  Well,  I  must  tell  Louise.  She's  had  a 
bad  night,  but  this  news  '11  do  her  no  end  of  good  .  .  . 
no  end  of  good. 

He  is  going  off  Right,  but  waits  as  MACLAREN 
biirsts  on  Le]t. 

MACLAREN.  I  say,  Yeullat  .  .  .  [Seeing  RUTH]  Oh, 
Mrs  Dangan,  they've  just  helioecl  us.  Your  husband's 
come  up  with  the  relief  force. 

RUTH  rises  quickly. 

He's  on  ahead  with  the  advanced  guard  somewhere 
....  they  ought  to  be  here  any  minute. 

RUTH.  Jack  .  .  .  Jack  ! 

MACLAREN.  I  just  ran  down  to  let  you  know. 

FARAKER.  I'm  so  glad,  Ruth.  This  is  great  news. 
Splendid  !  Splendid  !  Louise  Ml  be  delighted. 

He  goes  off  R. 

MACLAREN.  [To  YEULLAT]  I've  signalled  them : 
'  All  well,  full  of  fight,  and  able  to  hold  out  for  weeks." 


108  THE   WHEEL  ACT  m 

[He  laughs  boisterously]  That's  a  whacking  lie,  but  I 
felt  I  just  had  to  buck  a  bit.  [As  he  goes  off]  Coming 
up  ? 

YEULLAT.  In  a  minute. 

MACLAREN  hurries  off  Left.     YEULLAT   and 
RUTH  stand  staring  at  each  other  in  silence. 

RUTH.  This  is  final. 

YEULLAT.  [Nodding]  Yes. 

RUTH.  We  must  decide  for  good  now  ...  for  good 
or  ill. 

YEULLAT.  We've  got  to  see  it  through. 

RUTH.  I  was  only  half  awake  then — I  thought 
everything  was  over  for  us,  except  the  easy  way  to 
the  end  .  .  .  and  the  change  stunned  me  .  .  .  but 
I'm  awake  now.  It's  life — life  we've  got  to  face.  [Going 
to  him]  Tim,  are  you  sure  that  you  love  me  enough 
to  give  up  everything — for  it  means  that — and  take 
me  away  with  you  ? 

YEULLAT.  I  love  you  enough  to  give  up  anything, 
to  go  anywhere  you  wish,  to  do  anything  you  ask 
.  .  .  except  .  .  .  Ruth,  he  must  be  told  ...  we 
can't  lie  to  him. 

RUTH.  [Taking  his  hands]  Don't  be  afraid,  dear. 
Whatever  we  do,  we  do  it  openly  .  .  .  because  we 
must.  Whether  it  be  right  or  wrong  .  .  .  because 
we  must.  When  he  comes,  I  shall  see  him.  .  .  .  You 
must  let  me  see  him  first.  ...  I  shall  tell  him  that 
we  love  each  other  .  .  .  everything.  I  shall  ask  him 
to  give  me  my  freedom  ...  so  that  we  may  be  married. 
He  will  do  it,  I  know  him.  Then,  if  he  wants  to  speak 
to  you  ...  I  will  send  for  you. 


ACT  in  THE   WHEEL  109 

YEULLAT.  I  must  see  him. 

RUTH.  Very  well.  Tim,  what  are  we  going  to 
do  ...  afterwards  ?  We  must  think  of  that.  After 
.  .  .  after  the  divorce  .  .  .  you'll  have  to  leave  the 
service  .  .  .  isn't  that  so  ? 

YEULLAT.  That's  so. 

RUTH.  Shall  you  mind  .  .  .  much  ? 

YEULLAT.  [Smiling]  I  shall  get  over  it.  Yes,  we 
must  think  of  that  .  .  .  ways  and  means.  .  .  .  I've 
got  a  little  money.  ...  I  could  buy  a  farm  .  .  .  one 
of  the  Colonies,  New  Zealand,  perhaps 

RUTH.  Yes  .  .  .  yes 

YEULLAT.  I  think  we  could  be  very  happy  .  .  . 
that  way 

RUTH.  [Feverishly]  We  must  ...  we  must  be 
happy  ...  we  love  each  other.  I  shall  be  happy 
anywhere,  if  I  have  you  .  .  .  that's  the  only  thing 
that  matters.  And  if  you  won't  regret 

YEULLAT.  Regret ! 

RUTH.  Then  what  does  anything  matter  ? 

Shouts    heard    outside.    YEULLAT    tttrns    and 
listens. 

YEULLAT.  Remember,  when  you've  told  him  .  .  . 
send  for  me  .  .  .  [Taking  her  hands]  Promise  me. 

RUTH.  I  promise — I  promise. 

YEULLAT.  Whatever  comes  .  .  .  we're  above- 
board  .  .  .  straight.  We'll  see  it  through  together. 

RUTH.  Together  ...  I  promise. 

He  holds  her  hands  for  a  second,  then  goes  out 

Left. 
RUTH  walks  to  and  fro  for  a  moment  restlessly, 


110  THE   WHEEL  ACT  TIT 

then,  leaning  against  the  column  at  the  right 
of  the  entrance,  hides  her  face.  Then 
she  raises  her  head,  looking  round  in  dazed 
fashion  until  her  eyes  fall  on  the  face  of  the 
Buddha.  For  a  moment  she  remains  still, 
staring  at  it,  then  half  hypnotised,  moves 
slowly  to  the  foot  of  the  altar  and  stands 
looking  up  at  the  face.  The  LAMA  enters 
from  the  corridor  Right.  He  comes  down  a 
little  way,  watching  her  intently,  then  as 
though  drawn  by  his  eyes  she  turns  slowly. 
They  stand  facing  each  other  silently  for 
some  moments. 

LAMA.  Sahiba,  your  heart  is  full  of  sorrows. 
RUTH.  [Half  shrinking  from  him]  Why  .  .  .  why 
do  you  say  that  ? 

LAMA  [Looking  into  her  eyes  intently]  It  is  open  .  .  . 
I  am  looking  into  it. 

RUTH.  You  are  strange  .  .  .  and  your  words  are 
strange. 

She  moves  uneasily,  but  cannot  take  her  eyes  from 

his. 

LAMA.  Yes  .  .  .  yes.  .  .  I  am  looking  into  it  [A 
pause.    He    continues    speaking    very    gently]  Listen, 
Sahiba.    This  is  the  noble  truth  of  sorrow  : 
Life  is  sorrow ; 

To  be  united  to  the  unloved  is  sorrow  ; 
To  be  divided  from  the  loved  is  sorrow  ; 
Not  to  receive  what  one  craves  is  sorrow. 
RUTH.  [Shrinking]  Why  do  you  say  these  things  to 
me  ? 


ACT  TTT  THE   WHEEL  111 

LAMA.  I  see  them  in  your  heart.  ...  I  am  looking 
into  it. 

RUTH.  [In  a  low  voice]  I'm  miserable.  .  .  . 
LAMA.  It  is  the  craving  that  brings  sorrow  .  .  .  the 
illusion    of   desire.    Desire   the   sower    of   sorrows ! 
Passion  that  burns  up  the  fields  of  life. 

RUTH.  [Covering  her  eyes  with  her  hands]  I'm  afraid  1 
You  seem  to  look  through  me  ...  to  know  what  is 
in  my  thoughts.  You  make  me  afraid. 

LAMA.  No  ...  no  ...  do  not  be  afraid,  sahiba. 
I  am  full  of  pity  for  you.  I  look  into  the  years  .  .  . 
away  out  into  the  years  .  .  .  and  the  veil  is  drawn 
from  them.  [For  a  moment  he  is  silent,  staring  far  away 
before  him,  and  moving  his  hand  slowly,  as  though 
drawing  a  veil  from  something],  I  am  looking  at  a 
woman  .  .  .  out  there  .  .  .  among  the  shadows. 
She  is  driven  by  desire  .  .  .  the  illusion  of  desire 
...  as  a  cloud  before  the  wind.  Sorrow  is  in  her 
heart,  and  in  her  hands.  And  to  all  she  giveth 
sorrow  ...  to  him  who  loves  her  ...  to  him  she 
loves.  She  is  a  giver  of  sorrow.  Can  you  not  see  her 
.  .  .  out  there  .  .  .  among  the  shadows  ? 

RUTH  remains  gazing,  fascinated.    He  moves  his 

hand  as  though  following  a  vanishing  form. 
There  .  .  .  [He  watches  in  silence]  she  is  gone  .  .  . 
back  into  the  stream  of  births  .  .  .  bound  .  .  .  bound 
to  the  wheel.  [Then  nodding  his  head  and  speaking 
to  himself ,  he  goes  slowly  Right.]  A  giver  of  sorrows  .  .  . 
Perfect  is  the  law  .  .  .  wise  is  the  most  excellent 
law. 

He  goes  out  Right. 


112  THE   WHEEL  ACT  m 

RUTH  remains  staring  out  at  the  shadows.  A 
number  of  excited  shouts  are  heard  from 
below  :  "  Shaba  !  Shaba  !  Shabaaa  !  " 

MRS  FARAKER  enters  Right,  quickly. 
MRS  F.  Can  you  see  them,  Ruth ;  can  you  see  them 
yet? 

She  goes  to  back. 

RUTH.  [Faintly]  I  don't  think  so  ...  we've  seen 
the  helio  working. 

FARAKER  enters,  followed  by  DAVID  carrying  a 

coat.    More  shouts  below. 

MRS    F.  Then    it's    all    right.    Thank    goodness ! 
There's  no  doubt  about  it  this  time. 

A   cheer  below — "  Shaba  1  Shaba  !  Shabaaa  ! 

Shaba  !  Shaba  !  Shabaaa  I  " 
What's  that  shouting,  George  ? 

FARAKER.  Excitement,     dear,     excitement !     The 
men's  feelings  are — er — excited  .  .  .  quite  naturally. 
MRS  F.  Nonsense  !    I'm  not  shouting,  and  I'm  sure 
I'm  as  excited  as  any  of  them. 
DAVID.  The  memsahib's  coat.  [Holding  it  out]. 
MRS  F.  [Getting  into  it]  Of  course  ...  I  wonder  I 
remembered  anything. 
RUTH.  You  feel  better,  don't  you,  Louise  ? 
MRS  F.  Haven't  had  time  to  think  of  anything 
except  getting  out  of  this  dreadful  place. 

MACLAREN  enters  the  corridor  Left. 
MACLAREN.  Cheer  up,  Mrs  Faraker  ;  they're  here. 
MRS  F.  Who? 

MACLAREN.  First  batch  of  the  advance  .  .  .  don't 
know  who  yet. 


ACT  in  THE   WHEEL  113 

He  goes  off  Right.    FARAKER  goes  up  and  looks 

over  the  parapet. 

MRS  F.  Oh,  thank  goodness  !  thank  goodness  !  [To 
RUTH]  Oh,  what  a  night  I've  had  ! 
FARAKER.  Can't  see  anyone  from  here. 
Mrs  F.  I  waked  and  had  horrors,  then  slept  and  had 
worse  horrors.    It  was  all  George's  fault.    He  had  a 
face  like  a  cemetery,  and  when  he  did  make  a  remark, 
it  sounded  like  a  dying  groan. 

FARAKER.  [Looking  out]  Why,  it's  Jack  !  Ruth, 
it's  your  husband  1 

Excited  murmurs  and  shouts  can  be  heard  coming 
nearer.  RUTH  makes  a  step  towards  the 
entrance,  then  stops. 

DANGAN.  [Outside]  Hullo  !  hullo,  George  !  Where 
is  Ruth  ...  is  she  there  ?  [He  comes  on]  Ruth  ! 
[He  takes  her  in  his  arms  and  kisses  her]  Oh,  my  dear, 
thank  God  I've  got  you  safe  again  !  [Holding  her  at 
arm's  length]. 

MACLAREN  and  MANNERS,  a  subaltern  in  a  native 

regiment,  follow  him  on. 

RUTH.  Have  you  .  .  .  been  very  anxious,  Jack  ? 
DANGAN.  Anxious !      Well — it's    all    right    now. 
[Kissing  her  gently.    He  turns  away]  Cis,  dear,  how 
are  you  ?  [Kissing  her]. 

MRS  F.  Immensely  relieved,  like  the  rest  of  the 
garrison. 

DANGAN.  [Shaking  hands  with  FARAKER]  By  Jove  ! 
you've  got  out  of  an  ugly  scrape,  George. 
MRS  F.  Yes,  it's  been  a  cheerful  picnic,  hasn't  it  ? 
DANGAN.  [Turning]  This  is  Mr  Manners.    He  and 


114  THE   WHEEL  ACT  m 

I  took  all  the  risks  and  got  first  past  the  post.    My 
wife,  my  sister,  Mr  Faraker. 

The  women  bow,  murmuring  "'How  d'ye  do  ?  " 

MANNERS.  [Bowing]  How  d'ye  do  ?  How  d'ye 
do  ?  [Cheerfully]  Awfully  jolly  to  find  you  all  right. 

MACLAREN.  We  had  a  bad  scare  last  night,  sir.  The 
ladies  didn't  know,  of  course,  but  a  lama  came  in  with 
the  news  that  the  relief  force  had  been  cut  up  and 
driven  back. 

MRS  F.  [To  FARAKER]  So  that's  what  made  you 
look  like  a  funeral. 

FARAKER.  Not  at  all,  not  at  all.  ...  I  didn't 
believe  it. 

MACLAREN.  Did  you  have  any  fighting,  sir  ? 

DANGAN.  Yes;  in  the  morning  a  section  of  the 
advanced  guard  got  ambushed  near  a  place  called 

MACLAREN.  Langano. 

DANGAN.  That's  the  name.  They  had  about 
twenty  casualties.  I  suppose  he  thought  it  was  the 
whole  force.  [Laughing], 

MACLAREN.  I  expect  so.  But  the  beggar  was  so 
circumstantial  he  put  the  fear  of  God  into  us. 

DANGAN.  Pity  he  didn't  wait.  We  gave  them  an 
infernal  doing  about  two  hours  later.  But  where  is 
Yeullat  ? 

MACLAREN.  [Looking  off]  Here  he  comes.  [Calling] 
Yeullat!  Yeullat! 

YEULLAT  enters  Left. 

DANGAN.  [Grasping  his  hand]  Yeullat,  my  dear 
fellow,  my  dear  old  fellow,  it's  good  to  see  you  again. 
It  was  a  big  thing,  this  .  .  .  and  I'm  proud  of  you, 


ACT  in  THE   WHEEL  115 

proud  of  you  .  .  .  the  old  regiment  again.  ...  I 
can't  tell  you  what  I  feel,  not  now.  Just,  thank  you  ! 
[With  a  final  wrench  he  relinquishes  his  hand]. 

YEULLAT.  [Awkwardly]  You  needn't  thank  me, 
sir  ...  there's  been  very  little  to  do. 

DANGAN.  Little  !  [Putting  his  hand  on  RUTH'S 
shoulder]  You've  given  me  back  the  one  thing  in  the 
world  I  couldn't  lose. 

YEULLAT.  Any  credit  for  that  belongs  to  Maclaren. 
He  brought  them  in  here  ...  he  got  the  only  stiff 
fighting  there  was.  ...  I  didn't  come  in  till  the 
finish. 

MACLAREN.  It  would  have  been  "  finish  "  without 
you. 

MRS  F.  Well,  I  think  they  both  ought  to  have  the 
V.C. 

DANGAN.  [Laughing]  Then  you'd  better  see  to  it, 
Cis. 

MACLAREN.  You  know,  I  feel  we  ought  all  to  finish 
up  to-night  with  supper  at  the  Carlton,  what  ?  [He 
laughs,  and  the  OTHERS  laugh  with  him,  except  RUTH 
and  YEULLAT]  By  Jove  !  though,  I  thought  last  night 
I'd  never  see  London  again.  [To  MANNERS]  Got  a 
cigarette  on  you  ? 

MANNERS  offers  him  his  case.    He  lights  up. 

MRS  F.  Are  you  in  command,  Jack  ? 

DANGAN.  [Laughing]  When  I'm  in  command  I 
don't  usually  come  ahead  of  the  advanced  guard. 
I'm  only  a  passenger.  Stapleton's  in  command. 

A   cheer   down   below — "  Bawaji  ke   khalsas  / 
Swcvowaji  ke  faleh  I " 


116  THE   WHEEL  ACT  in 

MRS  F.  Listen  ! 

MANNERS.  More  of  'em  coming  in   ...   they'll  be 
dribbling  in  all  the  morning. 
MRS  F.  Let's  go  down  and  see  them. 

[She  moves  up  with  MANNERS. 
FARAKER.  [To  DANGAN]  Of  course  they'll  be  able 
to  send  us  back  to-day  ? 

DANGAN.  You    must    ask    Stapleton,    George.    I 
can't  do  anything. 

MRS  F.  Come  along,  George.        She  goes  out  Right. 
FARAKER.  I  see,  I  see.  .  .  .  I'll  ask  him. 

He  goes  out  Right. 
The    heliograph    can  be  seen  working   again 

from  one  of  the  nearer  kills. 

MACLAREN.  [Going  to  the  parapet]  They're  signalling 
again,  Yeullat. 

YEULLAT.  Right.    I'll  go  up. 
DANGAN.  [To   MACLAREN,    going    to    the    parapet] 
Where  have  you  got  your  helio  ? 
MACLAREN.  Up  on  the  roof. 

YEULLAT.  [Going  up]  Send  the  havildar  up  to  me. 
MACLAREN.  Right. 

DANGAN.  Couple   of  hours   before   Stapleton   gets 
here. 

MACLAREN.  Oh,  quite  that !  He  goes  off  Right. 

YEULLAT.  [In  a  low  tone  to  RUTH]  I'm  ready  .  .  . 
when  you  want  me. 

RUTH  bends  her  head.    YEULLAT  goes  off  Left. 
DANGAN  turns  and  looks  at  RUTH,  who  is 
standing  down  Left.     Then  he  comes  down 
a  little,  looking  after  YEULLAT. 


ACT  in  THE   WHEEL  117 

DANGAN.  Yeullat  !  [Going  to  RUTH]  Isn't  it  strange 
how  things  happen,  Ruth  ?  It's  one  of  my  own 
regiment  ...  for  he's  always  that  to  me  ...  who 
gives  me  back  my  wife.  [He  takes  her  in  his  arms  and 
kisses  her]  We  don't  understand  the  working  of  things, 
dear ;  we  can  just  be  grateful  for  them.  [Stroking  her 
hair]  It's  been  a  terrible  time  for  you,  my  dear,  but 
it's  over  now  ...  all  over. 

RUTH.  [Speaking  with  effort]  I  ...  I  wasn't 
afraid. 

DANGAN.  No ;  you're  a  brave  woman  .  .  .  you 
were  always  that.  But  I  know  I  shall  never  forget 
these  last  few  days.  Last  night,  there  was  one  time 
— we  did  a  night  march  till  the  moon  set — when  it 
came  over  me  ...  a  sort  of  sudden  terror  .  .  .  that 
I  was  never  going  to  see  you  again.  And  now  .  .  . 
well,  I  do  thank  God,  from  the  bottom  of  my  heart. 

RUTH   clenches  her  hands  tightly,   controlling 
herself  with  an  effort. 

RUTH.  We  ...  I  don't  think  ...  we  were  in  very 
great  danger. 

DANGAN.  Perhaps  not,  but  .  .  .  don't  let's  talk 
about  it.  I've  got  you  safe  again,  all  to  myself.  And 
now  I've  got  to  cheer  you  up,  and  help  you  to  forget 
it,  eh  ?  [He  puts  his  hands  on  her  shoulders,  turning 
her  to  him]  You  look  worn,  dear  .  .  .  the  strain's  told 
on  you  .  .  .  your  dear  face  is  almost  sad. 

RUTH.  [Shaking  her  head]  It  hasn't  done  me  any 
harm. 

DANGAN.  You'll  be  all  right  once  we  get  you  safe 
home.  It'll  be  good  to  have  you  home  again.  You 


118  THE   WHEEL  ACT  m 

know,  dear,  when  you're  away  ...  I  oughtn't  to 
grumble  .  .  .  but  it  isn't  home.  It's  nothing  but 
a  dreary  bungalow  .  .  .  [Turning  away]  I  hate  the 
sight  of  the  walls. 

RUTH.  [Speaking  with  an  effort]  Jack. 

DANGAN.  [Turning]  Yes  ? 

RUTH.  I  want  .  .  .  there's  something  ...  I  want 
to  say  to  you. 

DANGAN.  [Turning]  Well,  dear,  what  is  it  ? 

RUTH.  [After  a  pause]  I  ...  it's  hard  to  say  .  .  . 

only  ...  I  wonder  if  you  ever  noticed  anything  .  .  . 

in  me  ...  a  change  .  .  .  during  these  last  two  years  ? 

[A  pause.    He  comes  over  to  her. 

DANGAN.  My  dear,  it's  a  strange  thing  that  you 
should  say  that  to  me.  Do  you  know,  that's  the  very 
thing  I've  been  making  up  my  mind  to  speak  to  you 
about. 

RUTH  stares  at  him.    He  goes  on  gently. 
I  know  ...  I  know  what  you're  going  to  tell  me. 

RUTH.  You  know  ! 

DANGAN.  Yes,  I  know.  I've  noticed  it  ...  the 
change.  I've  been  worrying  about  it  ...  for  some 
time  now.  And  then  somehow  ...  in  these  last 
terrible  days,  it's  come  home  to  me  ...  the  meaning 
of  it  ...  about  our  life  together,  that  I  ...  that 
perhaps  I  wasn't  being  fair  to  you. 

RUTH.  It's  not  that  .  .  .  it's  not  that !  You 
don't— 

DANGAN.  Wait,  dear  .  .  .  Let  me  tell  you 

RUTH.  [Desperately]  But  you  don't  know  .  .  .  and 
I've  got  to  tell  you. 


ACT  in  THE   WHEEL  119 

DANGAN.  Afterwards.  Sit  down  .  .  .  you're  tired. 
Sit  down,  dear,  and  listen  to  me.  [He  makes  her  sit  on 
the  saddle,  and  stands  above  her.]  Ruth,  dear,  I'm 
afraid  you've  not  been  very  happy  lately  ...  at 
home.  I've  seen  it  ...  and  I've  begun  to  realise 
that  it  must  be  my  fault. 

She  makes  a  movement  to  speak,  and  then,  as  he 
stops  her,  sits  staring  with  a  face  of  blank 
misery. 

Yes,  yes,  my  fault,  even  if  I  can't  help  it.  You  see, 
dear,  you're  young.  You're  nearly  twenty  years 
younger  than  I  am.  It  isn't  natural  that  the  same 
kind  of  life  should  suit  us  both.  I'm  afraid  life's  very 
dull  for  you,  at  the  station.  I've  got  my  work  .  .  . 
a  man  gets  into  a  groove,  I  suppose  .  .  .  that  makes 
him  forget.  .  .  .  And  then  .  .  .  we've  no  children 
.  .  .  that  would  have  made  all  the  difference.  But 
now  .  .  .  well,  I've  thought  it  over  and  over,  and  I 
know  what's  got  to  be  done  .  .  .  I've  made  up  my 
mind  to  retire,  now,  this  year,  before  I'm  an  old 
fogey  ;  and  we'll  go  back  home  together  and  get  into 
a  different  life  ...  new  interests,  new  people,  new 
places  .  .  .  make  a  fresh  start  together.  We  can 
travel  on  the  Continent  .  .  .  you'd  like  that,  Ruth. 
Or  we  might  settle  down  in  the  country  for  a  bit  ... 
or  London.  There  are  lots  of  things  to  be  done.  Any- 
thing .  .  .  anything  that  will  make  you  happy. 
That's  the  only  thing  I  want. 

RUTH.  Don't  .  .  .  don't ! 

With  a  sob  she  hides  her  face  in  her  hands. 

DANGAN.  [Stroking  her  hair.]  You  are  all  I've  got 


120  THE   WHEEL  ACT  in 

to  love.  If  you  are  not  happy,  well  .  .  .  what  am  I 
for  ?  I've  sometimes  wondered  if  ...  you  see  you 
were  only  a  girl,  you  were  at  the  beginning  of  life, 
and  I  ...  well,  I  was  near  the  down-hill,  anyway 
...  if  I  didn't  do  you  a  wrong  in  marrying  you. 

RUTH.  [Looking  up]  You  .  .  .  never  .  .  .  did  me 
a  wrong. 

DANGAN.  I  shouldn't  like  you  to  think  that,  dear. 
After  all,  I'm  a  fairly  young  man.  ...  I  don't  feel 
old.  But  I  must  get  out  of  the  groove  .  .  .  begin 
again,  begin  again  .  .  .  that's  it.  We  mustn't  drift 
away  from  each  other.  In  these  four  or  five  days  .  .  . 
I  never  slept  a  wink  ...  I  realised  it  ...  all  that 
you  meant  to  me  ...  the  thought,  the  terror  of 
losing  you  .  .  .  everything  in  the  world  .  .  .  because, 
dear,  you're  all  ...  [Stroking  her  hair]  you're  wife 
and  children  .  .  .  both.  [His  voice  has  grown  a 
little  husky.  He  turns  away,  going  up  stage  a  little,  then 
a  moment  or  two  later,  he  turns  to  her  again].  That's 
what  I  wanted  to  tell  you,  dear  .  .  .  everything. 
Was  I  right  ...  is  that  all  ...  is  that  what  you 
wanted  to  say  to  me  ? 

RUTH.  [Staring  in  front  of  her,  after  a  long  pause] 
Yes  .  .  .  that's  .  .  .  what  I  wanted  ...  to  say. 

He  bends  down  and  kisses  her  forehead. 

DANGAN.  Well,  we'll  talk  about  it  again  .  .  .  often. 
We've  got  plans  to  make  .  .  .  lots  of  plans  .  .  . 
when  we  get  back  to  the  station.  And  then,  fresh 
start  .  .  .  begin  again. 

She  rises  with  a  stone-like  face. 

RUTH.  [In  a  dull  tone]  Yes. 


ACT  in  THE   WHEEL  121 

DANGAN.  [Looking  at  her]  Is  anything  the  matter, 
Ruth? 

RUTH.  [Shaking  her  head]  I'm  tired. 
DANGAN.  My  poor  child  !    Go  and  lie  down,  get 
some  rest.    Yes,  the  strain  has  been  too  much  for 
you.     [He  pats  her  shoulder]  I  must  go  down  now  and 
see  how  things  are  getting  on.    Go  and  rest,  dear 

He  goes  out  Right. 
A  moment  later  the  HAVILDAR  enters,  crossing 

towards  Left.    RUTH  turns. 

RUTH.  Havildar  !  [He  comes  down]  Yeullat  sahib 
ko  hamara  salaam  dedo. 

The  HAVILDAR  salutes  and  goes  out  Left. 
RUTH  sits  on  the  divan  for  some  moments 
with  her  hands  clasped  tightly  together  on  her 
knees.  Then  with  a  shiver  she  rises  and 
walks  slowly  across  to  the  altar,  where  she 
remains  looking  up  at  the  Buddha.  A  little 
later  YEULLAT  comes  on.  RUTH  turns  to 
him  as  he  comes  in.  , 

YEULLAT.  [Looking  round]  Where  is  he  ? 
RUTH.  Tim  ...  I  couldn't  ...  I  couldn't  do  it. 
YEULLAT.    [Staring    at    her]    You    haven't    told 
him  ? 

She  shakes  her  head  slowly. 
RUTH.  [After  a  pause]  I  can't .  .  .  leave  him. 

He  comes  over  to  her,  looking  into  her  face. 
I  can't. 

YEULLAT.  [Bowing  his  head]  Ruth  ! 
RUTH.  [Putting  out  her  hand  and  touching  him]  Oh, 
my  dear ! 


122  THE   WHEEL  ACT  in 

For  a  moment  they  stand  silent,  without  moving. 
I  tried  ...  I  tried  to  tell  him  .  .  .  [A  pause]  He 
said  I  was  all  he  had  to  love  .  .  .  wife  and  children 
to  him  ...  his  voice  broke  almost  .  .  .  and  I 
couldn't  bear  it. 

YEULLAT.  Yes  ...  I  know. 

RUTH.  I  knew,  all  the  time,  that  I  had  only  to  say 
it  ...  that  we  loved  each  other,  you  and  I  ...  just 
those  little  words  .  .  .  and  we  should  be  free.  I  sat 
listening  .  .  .  wondering  when  I  should  speak  .  .  . 
listening.  It  was  his  perfect  trust,  the  blind  faith 
in  me.  .  .  .  And  then,  suddenly,  so  that  I  cried  out 
with  the  pain  of  it,  I  saw  .  .  .  that  it  just  wasn't 
possible. 

YEULLAT.  When  he  took  my  hand,  and  thanked  me 
....  I  knew  that.  [He  turns  away,  shutting  his  lips 
tightly].  What  are  we  going  to  do  ? 

RUTH.  I  am  going  back  with  him. 

YEULLAT.  Yes. 

RUTH.  He  says  he  wants  to  retire,  to  travel,  to  take 
me  home  to  England  .  .  .  anything  that  will  make  me 
happy. 

YEULLAT.  Will  you  go  ? 

She  shakes  her  head  slowly. 

RUTH.  Every  place  will  be  the  same  to  me  ...  and 
it  would  hurt  him. 

YEULLAT.  That  is  right. 

RUTH.  We  ...  we  mustn't  see  each  other  again. 

YEULLAT.  No.  I  must  try  for  an  exchange. 
Burmah  or 

RUTH.  Tim  ! 


ACT  in  THE   WHEEL  123 

YEULLAT.  It  will  be  better  ...  if  the  sea  is 
between  us.  ...  Things  are  different  .  .  .  now. 

RUTH.  I  seem  always  to  be  making  you  go  away 
.  .  .  out  of  the  regiment  first  .  .  .  now  out  of 
India  .  .  .  my  love  has  been  a  trouble  to  you. 

YEULLAT.  It's  been  the  only  real  thing  in  my  life. 
She  -puts  her  hand  on  his  arm. 

RUTH.  Whatever  I  suffer,  whatever  I've  got  to 
suffer,  [almost  fiercely]  I'm  glad  that  we  met  .  .  . 
I'm  glad  that  we  loved  .  .  .  I'm  glad  that  we  belonged 
to  each  other.  That's  our  life  .  .  .  Nothing  can  take 
that  from  us.  [Gently]  Tim,  if  we  went  away  together 
— should  we  be  happy  always — I  wonder.  We're 
not  hard  enough  .  .  .  we're  not  cruel.  Only  the 
hard  people  can  take  everything  they  want  in  this 
world. 

The  men  below  are  heard  cheering.    YEULLAT 
turns. 

RUTH.  [Quickly]  Are  you  going  ? 

YEULLAT.  I  can't  meet  him  again.  When  Stapleton 
comes  I'll  get  him  to  take  me  on.  ...  I  know  the 
country  better  than  anyone  he's  got. 

RUTH.  Don't  be  afraid  .  .  .  I'm  going  to  be  strong. 
Love  made  me  weak.  But  it's  going  to  make  me 
strong  now.  .  . 

YEULLAT.  [Taking  her  hands]  Oh,  my  love  ! 

RUTH.  [With  sudden  exaltation]  I  will  believe  in 
reincarnation,  I  will  believe  in  heaven  ...  I  will 
believe  in  anything  that  will  promise  to  give  you  back 
to  me.  Kiss  me,  kiss  me,  just  this  once. 

He  takes  her  in  his  arms  and  kisses  her. 


124  THE   WHEEL  ACT  m 

RUTH.  [Clinging    to    him]  Tim,    Tim,    you    won't 
forget  .  .  .  you  won't  forget  me  ? 

He  draws  back  from  her,  holding  her  hands, 

and  looks  straight  into  her  eyes. 
Is  that  cruel  of  me  ? 
YEULLAT.  Forget  .  .  .  Ruth  ! 
RUTH.  [Shaking  her  head]  No,  you  are  not  the  kind 
that  forgets. 
YEULLAT.  Good-bye. 

RUTH.  [Strongly]  No     .     .     .     no !    There's    no 
good-bye  ...  no  good-bye  .   .   .  not  for  us.    Just 
say  :  "  I  love  and  I  wait." 
YEULLAT.  I  love  and  I  wait. 
RUTH.  Now  go  ! 

She  makes  a  quick  gesture,  putting  him  away, 
and  stands  with  her  hands  up,  tense  and 
curved,  and  looking  away  from  him.  He 
turns  and  goes  quickly  out. 
She  remains  rigid,  listening  as  the  footsteps 
die  away.  Then  slowly  her  head  turns  in 
the  direction  he  has  gone.  The  hands 
begin  to  tremble;  a  low  cry  comes  from 
her. 

Tim  !  .  .  .  Tim  !  [She  sinks  down,  hiding  her  face  in 
her  hands]. 

The  LAMA  comes  on  from  the  lower  entrance 
Right.  In  one  hand  he  carries  a  bundle  of 
the  little  red  flowers,  the  other  is  fingering 
his  rosary.  As  he  is  going  to  the  altar  he 
sees  RUTH,  goes  over  a  little  way  and  stands 
looking  down  at  her. 


ACT  in  THE   WHEEL  125 

LAMA.  Sahiba  ! 

She  looks  up  slowly. 
They  who  overcome  desire 
From  them  their  sorrows  fall, 
As  tears  fall  from  the  eyes, 
As  the  dew-drops  from  the  flowers. 
He  holds  out  the  flowers,  shaking  the  dew  from 
them ;  he  nods  his  head  gently  to  her  several 
times,  then  goes  towards  the  altar,  speaking 
to  himself. 

Ahi !  the  way  is  hard  ...  we  be  fools  of  illusion  .  .  . 
suffering  .  .  .  until  we  be  free  .  • .  .  free  from  the 
Wheel. 

He  strews  the  flowers  before  the  Buddha,  then 
sprinkles  incense  on  the  lamp  and  bends 
down  in  prayer. 

RUTH.  [Staring  out  at  a  thought  far  away]  Free  .  .  . 
from  the  Wheel ! 


CURTAIN 


4  -«WJ 


